LH 

^ 


PETER  PARAGON 


UNIT.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGELES 


PETER   PARAGON 

A  Tale  of  Youth 


BY 


JOHN  PALMER 


\ 


COPYRIGHT,  1915 
BY  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 


TO 

MILDRED 


2132217 


PETER  PARAGON 


PETER  might  justly  have  complained  that  his 
birth  was  too  calmly  received.  For  Peter's 
mother  accepted  him  without  demur.  Women 
who  nurse  themselves  more  thoroughly  than  they 
nurse  their  babies  will  incredulously  hear  that 
Mrs.  Paragon  made  little  difference  in  her  life 
on  Peter's  account  until  within  four  hours  of  his 
coming.  Nevertheless  Peter  was  a  healthy  baby, 
shapeless  and  mottled. 

Mrs.  Paragon  was  tall  and  fair,  with  regular 
features  and  eyes  set  well  apart.  They  looked 
at  you  candidly,  and  you  were  aware  of  their 
friendly  interest.  They  perfectly  expressed  the 
simplicity  and  peace  of  her  character.  She  was 
mild  and  immovable;  with  a  strength  that  was 
felt  by  all  who  dealt  with  her,  though  she  rarely 
asserted  it.  She  had  the  slow,  deep  life  of  a 
mother. 

Mr.  Paragon  was  at  all'points  contrasted.  He 
was  short,  and  already  at  this  time  he  was  stout. 
He  had  had  no  teaching;  but  he  was  not  an  igno- 
rant man.  He  was  naturally  of  an  active  mind; 
and  he  had  read  extensively  the  literature  that 
suited  his  habit  of  reflection. 

Mr.  Paragon  was  the  son  of  a  small  tradesman, 
and  had  by  the  death  of  his  parents  been  thrown 


2  PETER  PARAGON 

upon  the  London  streets.  After  ten  years  he  had 
emerged  as  a  managing  clerk. 

Had  Mr.  Paragon  been  well  treated  he  might 
have  reached  his  fortieth  year  sunny  and  chari- 
table, with  a  cheerful  faith  in  people  and  institu- 
tions. But  living  a  celibate  life,  insufficiently 
fed,  shabbily  clothed,  and  never  doubting  his  men- 
tal superiority  to  prosperous  employers,  he  had 
naturally  adopted  extremely  bitter  views  of  the 
world. 

Surmounting  a  shelf  of  Mr.  Paragon's  favour- 
ite books  was  a  plaster  bust  of  Bradlaugh.  The 
shelf  itself  included  Tom  Paine's  Rights  of  Man, 
Godwin's  Political  Justice,  and  the  works  of  Vol- 
taire in  forty  English  volumes.  Mr.  Paragon 
talked  the  language  of  Godwin's  philosophic  day. 
Priests,  kings,  aristocracies,  and  governments 
were  his  familiar  bogies.  He  went  every  Sunday 
to  a  Labour  church  where  extracts  from  Shelley 
and  Samuel  Butler  were  read  by  the  calendar;  and 
he  was  a  successful  orator  of  a  powerful  group 
of  rebels  among  the  railwaymen. 

Mr.  Paragon  was  more  Falstaff  than  Cassius  to 
the  eye.  There  was  something  a  little  ludicrous 
in  Mr.  Paragon,  with  legs  well  apart,  hands  deep 
in  his  trousers,  demonstrating  that  religion  was  a 
device  of  government  for  the  deception  of  simple 
men,  and  that  property  was  theft. 

Mrs.  Paragon  loved  her  husband,  and  ignored 
his  opinions.  He  on  his  side  found  rest  after  the 
bitterness  of  his  early  years  in  the  shelter  of  her 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  3 

wisdom.  His  anarchism  became  more  and  more 
an  intellectual  indulgence.  Gradually  the  edge 
was  taken  from  his  temper.  He  began  to  enjoy 
his  grievances  now  that  they  no  longer  pinched 
him.  His  charity,  in  a  way  that  charity  has, 
extended  with  his  circumference.  He  was  earn- 
ing £4  a  week,  and  he  had  in  his  wife  a  house- 
keeper who  could  make  £4  cover  the  work  of  £6. 
Mrs.  Paragon  did  not,  like  many  of  her  friends, 
overtask  an  incompetent  drudge  at  £10  a  year. 
She  saved  her  money,  and  halved  her  labour. 
Ends  met;  and  things  were  decently  in  order. 
Mr.  Paragon  was  happy;  insured  against  reason- 
able disaster;  with  sufficient  energy  and  spirit 
left  at  the  end  of  a  day's  work  to  take  himself 
seriously  as  a  citizen  and  a  man. 

There  were  times  when  Mr.  Paragon  took  him- 
self very  seriously  indeed.  On  the  evening  of  the 
day  when  Mr.  Samuel,  curate  of  the  parish,  called 
to  urge  Mrs.  Paragon  to  have  Peter  christened, 
Mr.  Paragon  talked  so  incisively  that  only  his 
wife  could  have  guessed  how  little  he  intended. 

"  No  priests,"  he  said.     "  That's  final." 

He  looked  in  fierce  dispute  at  Mrs.  Paragon; 
but  meeting  her  calm  eyes,  looked  hastily  away 
at  Peter,  who  was  sleeping  by  the  fire  in  a  clothes 
basket. 

Mrs.  Paragon  was  dishing  up  the  evening 
meal;  and  Mr.  Paragon  saw  that  a  reasonably 
large  pie-dish  had  appeared  from  the  oven,  from 
which  arose  a  browned  pyramid  of  sliced  pota- 


4  PETER  PARAGON 

toes.  The  kitchen  was  immediately  filled  with  a 
savour  only  to  be  associated  with  Mr.  Paragon's 
favourite  supper. 

Mrs.  Paragon  ignored  the  eagerness  with  which 
he  drew  to  the  table.  Shepherd's  pie  is  a  simple 
thing,  but  not  as  Mrs.  Paragon  made  it.  Mr. 
Paragon,  as  he  spooned  generously  into  the  steam- 
ing dish,  had  forgotten  Mr.  Samuel  till  Mrs. 
Paragon  reminded  him. 

"  Mr.  Samuel,"  she  said,  "  is  only  doing  his 
duty." 

Mr.  Paragon  washed  down  a  large  mouthful  of 
pie  with  small  beer.  Another  mouthful  was  cool- 
ing upon  the  end  of  his  fork. 

"  Who  made  it  his  duty?  "  he  asked. 

Mrs.  Paragon  never  answered  these  rhetorical 
questions;  and  Mr.  Paragon  added,  after  a 
mouthful : 

"  There  are  honest  jobs." 

"Yes,  dear;  but  Mr.  Samuel  believes  in 
christening." 

"  Perhaps  he  does.  Mr.  Samuel  believes  that 
the  animals  went  in  two  by  two." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Then  Mrs.  Paragon 
left  the  table  to  serve  a  large  suet  pudding  studded 
with  raisins. 

She  dealt  with  it  in  silence.  Mr.  Paragon,  as 
always  on  these  occasions  when  they  were  pulling 
different  ways,  felt  as  if  he  were  trying  to  make 
waves  in  a  pool  by  blowing  upon  the  surface.  He 
could  never  more  than  superficially  ruffle  the  spirit 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  5 

of  his  wife.  He  was  obscurely  aware  that  she 
had  inexhaustible  reserves. 

The  meal  concluded  without  further  conver- 
sation; but,  when  Mr.  Paragon  had  eaten  more 
than  was  good  for  him,  he  began  to  feel  that  im- 
pulsive necessity  to  be  generous  which  invariably 
overtook  him  sooner  or  later  in  his  differences 
with  Mrs.  Paragon.  He  looked  at  her  amiably : 

"  I  see  it  like  this,"  he  said.  "  Mr.  Samuel 
thinks  he's  right.  But  he's  not  going  to  stuff  it 
into  my  boy.  I'm  an  independent  man,  and  I 
think  for  myself." 

"  Yes,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Paragon.  "  I  don't 
know  whether  Mr.  Samuel  is  right  or  wrong.  I 
want  to  do  the  best  for  Peter." 

Mr.  Paragon  looked  sharply  at  his  wife.  She 
was  sitting  comfortably  beside  the  clothes  basket, 
resting  for  the  first  time  since  seven  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  There  was  not  the  remotest  suggestion 
that  she  was  resisting  him.  Nevertheless  Mr. 
Paragon  was  aware  of  a  passive  antagonism.  He 
was  sure  she  wanted  Peter  to  be  christened;  he 
was  also  sure  that  none  of  his  very  reasonable 
views  affected  her  in  the  least  degree. 

He  was  right.  Mrs.  Paragon  liked  to  hear  her 
husband  talk.  But  logic  did  not  count  in  her 
secure  world.  She  knew  only  what  she  wanted 
and  felt.  Calm  and  unutterable  sense  was  all  her 
genius;  and  Mr.  Paragon  felt,  rather  than  knew, 
that  his  books  and  opinions  were  feathers  in  the 
scale. 


6  PETER  PARAGON 

"  If  Peter  isn't  christened,"  Mrs.  Paragon 
softly  pursued,  "  he'll  be  getting  ideas  into  his 
head.  I  want  him  to  start  like  other  boys.  Let 
him  find  out  for  himself  whether  Mr.  Samuel's 
right  or  wrong.  If  you  keep  Peter  away  from 
Church  he'll  think  there's  something  wrong 
with  it." 

"Something  wrong  with  it!"  exploded  Mr. 
Paragon.  "  I'll  tell  you  what's  wrong  with  it." 

Mr.  Paragon  proceeded  to  do  so  at  some  length. 
Mrs.  Paragon  was  quite  content  to  see  Mr.  Para- 
gon spending  his  force.  Mr.  Paragon  talked  for 
a  long  time,  ending  in  firm  defiance. 

"  I  don't  see  a  son  of  mine  putting  pennies 
into  the  plate  for  the  clergyman's  Easter  Holiday 
Fund,"  he  noisily  concluded.  "  When  my  son  is 
old  enough  to  read  Genesis,  he'll  be  old  enough  to 
read  the  Origin  of  Species  and  the  works  of 
Voltaire." 

Thereafter  he  sat  for  the  rest  of  the  evening 
by  the  kitchen  fire  reading  his  favourite  volume 
of  the  forty  —  the  adventures  of  Candide  and  of 
Pangloss. 

But  for  a  few  moments  the  reading  was  inter- 
rupted, for  Peter  suddenly  woke  and  yelled  for 
food.  As  Mrs.  Paragon  sat  with  the  child,  Mr. 
Paragon  had  never  felt  more  conscious  of  her 
serenity,  of  her  immovable  strength,  of  her 
eternity.  He  watched  her  over  the  pages  of  his 
book. 

When  he  again  looked  into  the  adventures  of 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  7 

Candide  they  had  lost  something  of  their  zest. 
He  wondered  between  the  lines  whether  the 
patriarch  of  Ferney  would  have  written  with  quite 
so  definite  an  assurance  and  clarity  if  once  he  had 
looked  into  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Paragon. 

A  few  days  later  Peter  was  christened  at  the 
local  church. 


II 

MIRANDA  was  thirteen  years  old,  and  she  lived 
in  the  next  house.  She  was  Peter's  best  friend. 
They  had  soon  discovered  that  their  ideas  as  to  a 
good  game  were  similar,  and  for  many  years  they 
had  played  inseparably.  Already  Mrs.  Paragon 
and  Mrs.  Smith  had  decided  to  open  a  way 
through  the  wall  that  divided  the  two  gardens. 

To-day  this  breach  in  the  wall  had  been  filled  in 
by  Miranda  with  packing-cases  and  an  old  chair. 
Miranda  stood  beside  her  defences  of  the  breach 
with  sword  and  shield  on  the  summit  of  a  wall  less 
than  nine  inches  across. 

At  the  wall's  foot  was  Peter.  He  was  his 
favourite  hero  —  Shakespeare's  fifth  Henry. 

"  How  yet  resolves  the  governor  of  the  town  ? 
This  is  the  latest  parle  we  will  admit." 

The  moment  had  come  for  Miranda  to  descend 
from  the  wall  and  deliver  the  keys  of  the  city. 
But  Miranda  this  morning  refused  the  usual  pro- 
gramme. Peter,  hearing  that  the  text  of  Shake- 
speare would  not  on  this  occasion  be  followed, 
resolved  that  none  of  the  horrors  of  war  should  be 
spared. 

He  came  to  the  attack  with  a  battering-ram. 
8 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  9 

"Saint  George!  Saint  George!"  he  shouted, 
and  the  ram  rushed  forward. 

"  France !  France !  "  Miranda  screamed,  and 
unexpectedly  emptied  a  pail  of  cold  water  upon 
Peter's  head. 

Peter  left  the  ram  and  swiftly  retreated. 

Both  parties  were  by  this  time  lost  to  respect  of 
consequences.  Into  Peter's  mind  there  suddenly 
intruded  Shakespeare's  vision  of  himself. 

".  .  .  And  at  his  heels, 

Leashed  in  like  hounds,  should  famine,  sword,  and  fire 
Crouch  for  employment." 

Fire !     Obviously  this  was  the  retort. 

Nothing  in  the  world  burns  so  fiercely  as  a  well- 
dried  bundle  of  straw.  Within  half  a  minute  of 
the  match  there  was  literally  a  roar  of  flame, 
ascending  into  the  crevices  of  Miranda's  breach. 
She  rushed  into  the  smoke,  swayed,  and  leaped 
blindly  into  her  father's  marrow-bed. 

Her  father's  marrows  had  been  tenderly  nursed 
to  the  threshold  of  perfection.  It  was  a  portion 
of  his  routine  to  come  into  the  garden  after  break- 
fast to  inspect,  feel,  weigh  fn  his  hands,  and  liber- 
ally to  discourse  upon  marrows.  But  nothing  at 
that  moment  could  sober  Miranda.  She  did  not 
care. 

Peter  was  for  the  moment  awed  into  inaction 
by  a  fire  which  burned  more  rapidly  than  he  had 
intended;  but  he  climbed  at  last  upon  the  wall, 
saw  Miranda  prone  among  the  marrows,  and, 


io  PETER  PARAGON 

surging  with  conquest,  leaped  furiously  upon  her. 

Peter  was  more  complicated  than  Miranda. 
Miranda  did  not  yet  know  that  she  had  ruined 
her  father's  marrows.  She  was  mercifully  made 
to  feel  and  to  know  one  thing  at  a  time;  and  at 
this  moment  she  felt  that  the  only  thing  in  the 
world  that  mattered  was  to  kill  Peter. 

But  Peter  realised  in  mid-air  that  he,  too, 
would  soon  be  standing  amid  extended  ruins  of 
the  marrow-bed.  His  moment  of  indecision  was 
fatal.  Spreading  his  legs,  to  avoid  a  particularly 
fine  vegetable,  he  fell  headlong.  Miranda  was 
swiftly  upon  him,  and  they  rolled  among  the  shoots 
and  blossoms.  Peter  forgot  his  scruples.  He 
drew  the  dagger  at  his  belt,  and  stabbed. 

Triumph  was  stillborn.  He  felt  himself  sud- 
denly lifted  from  the  marrow-bed,  and  was  next 
aware  of  some  vigorous  blows  indelicately  placed. 

Mrs.  Smith  had  returned  from  marketing,  and 
looked  for  her  daughter.  The  fire  was  not  dif- 
ficult to  perceive ;  it  was  roaring  to  heaven.  Nor 
was  Miranda  easily  overlooked,  for  she  was  in 
her  death-agony. 

Miranda  calmly  stood  by,  waiting  until  Mrs. 
Smith  was  free  to  deal  with  her.  Miranda  was 
always  sensible.  Her  turn  would  come. 

Mrs.  Smith  suddenly  dropped  Peter  into  the 
marrows,  and  turned  the  garden  hose  upon 
Peter's  fire.  Peter,  scrambling  to  his  feet, 
watched  her  with  dry,  contemptuous  eyes.  The 
fire  was  furiously  crackling,  shooting  up  spark  and 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  n 

flame.  It  was  beautiful  and  splendid.  Peter 
found  himself  wondering  in  his  humiliation  how 
Mrs.  Smith  could  so  callously  extinguish  it. 

"  I  never  saw  such  children,"  said  Mrs.  Smith. 
"  I  don't  know  what  your  father  will  say, 
Miranda." 

Mrs.  Smith  was  a  hard-working  wife.  She  had 
no  time  for  thought  or  imagination.  She  dealt 
with  Miranda,  and  children  generally,  by  rote. 
"  Mischief  "  was  something  that  children  loved, 
for  which  they  were  punished.  It  was  recog- 
nised as  the  sort  of  thing  serious  people  avoided. 

"  I  don't  know  what  your  father  will  say, 
Miranda."  The  phrase  was  automatic  with  Mrs. 
Smith.  Miranda  knew  that  her  father  would  say 
less  than  her  mother. 

"  It  was  my  fire,"  said  Peter,  smouldering 
wickedly;  "  and  they  are  my  marrows." 

"  I  wasn't  talking  to  you,"  said  Mrs.  Smith; 
"  you'd  better  go  away." 

At  this  point  Mrs.  Paragon  appeared  above 
the  wall. 

"  Peter,"  she  said,  "  you  might  have  burned 
the  house  down." 

How  different,  Peter  thought,  was  his  mother 
from  Mrs.  Smith.  His  mother  understood.  Ob- 
viously it  was  wrong  to  burn  the  house  down.  He 
saw  the  point.  His  mother  hadn't  any  theories 
about  mischief. 

Mrs.  Smith  and  Mrs.  Paragon  exchanged  some 
sentiments  on  the  waywardness  of  children,  and 


12  PETER  PARAGON 

the  fire  being  quenched,  Miranda  was  kept  indoors 
for  the  rest  of  the  day.  Peter  wistfully  wandered 
between  meals  about  the  scene  of  his  morning's 
adventure.  He  was  burning  with  a  sense  of 
wrong.  He  admitted  his  fault.  He  had  im- 
perilled the  house,  and  he  had  helped  to  destroy 
his  neighbour's  marrows.  But  he  felt  that  Mrs. 
Smith's  view  of  things  was  perverse,  and  that  his 
humiliation  had  been  out  of  all  proportion  to  his 
offence.  At  the  thought  of  Miranda's  imprison- 
ment he  savagely  flushed. 

Peter  ended  the  day  in  a  softer  mood.  In  the 
evening  he  had  seen  Mr.  Smith  inspecting  the 
ruins  of  his  marrow  bed.  He  knew  exactly  what 
Mr.  Smith  was  feeling.  He  remembered  how  he 
himself  had  felt  when  Mrs.  Smith  had  made  him 
destroy  a  platform  he  had  built  in  the  chestnut 
tree  at  the  foot  of  the  garden. 

Peter  dashed  through  the  gap  in  the  wall.  Mr. 
Smith,  a  kind  little  man  with  the  temperament 
of  an  angel,  looked  him  sorrowfully  in  the  face. 
Peter's  contrition  was  manifest  and  perfectly 
understood. 

"  Bit  of  a  mess,  eh!  "  said  Mr.  Smith  with  an 
affectation  that  it  did  not  matter. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  Peter.  "  It's  a  shame.  I'm 
awfully  sorry." 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Smith.  Then  he 
added  cheerfully:  "  Your  father  will  put  it  right." 

Mr.  Smith,  as  a  gardener,  was  the  pupil  of  Mr. 
Paragon.  But  though  he  had  complete  confidence 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  13 

in  his  instructor,  his  belief  that  anyone  would  ever 
be  able  to  make  anything  of  the  mangled  vege- 
tation between  them  was  obviously  pretended  for 
Peter's  sake ;  and  Peter  knew  this  as  well  as  he. 

Peter  brushed  away  the  necessary  tears,  and 
was  about  to  obey  an  impulse  to  grip  Mr.  Smith's 
hand  in  sympathy,  when  Mrs.  Smith  called  her 
husband  sharply  to  supper. 

Peter  watched  him  disappear  into  the  house 
with  a  sudden  conviction  that  life  was  difficult. 
Already  he  heard  the  voice,  thin  and  penetrating, 
of  Mrs.  Smith,  raised  in  a  discourse  upon 
mischief. 

Peter  went  in  to  his  mother  to  tell  her  that  he 
had  apologised  to  Mr.  Smith.  He  knew  it  would 
please  her,  and  he  also  knew  that  his  father,  when 
he  came  home,  would  treat  him  with  justice  and 
understanding. 


Ill 

MR.  PARAGON  was  intended  for  a  gardener.  Had 
he  been  put  upon  the  land  at  an  early  age  he 
would  neither  have  read  books  nor  misread  men: 
missing  these  opportunities  for  cynicism.  He 
might  have  given  his  name  to  a  chrysanthemum; 
and  in  ripe  age  have  been  full  of  meditated 
wisdom. 

That  Mr.  Paragon  at  this  time  should  sensibly 
have  softened  from  the  bitterness  of  his  youth, 
was  as  much  due  to  his  large  garden  as  to  the 
influence  of  his  wife  and  the  effect  of  his  pros- 
perity. In  his  oldest  and  toughest  clothes,  work- 
ing as  English  labourers  worked  before  they  had 
lost  the  secret,  Mr.  Paragon  in  no  way  resembled 
himself  as  member  of  the  Labour  church  and  a 
popular  orator.  The  land  absorbed  him.  He 
handled  his  spade  in  an  indescribable,  professional 
manner.  You  recognised  the  connoisseur  who 
gathers  in  his  palms  the  rarest  china.  You  trust 
the  man  who  by  mere  handling  of  an  object  can 
convey  to  you  a  sense  of  its  value.  In  the  same 
way  you  trusted  Mr.  Paragon  with  a  spade. 
When  Mr.  Paragon  took  a  cutting  it  always 
struck.  When  he  selected  seeds  they  always  were 
fruitful.  When  he  built  a  bank  or  rounded  the 

14 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  15 

curve  of  a  plot  the  result  was  always  pleasing; 
and  it  came  of  itself,  without  reflection  or  diffi- 
culty. His  gift  was  from  nature.  He  had  read 
no  literature  of  gardening,  and  he  had  had  no 
instruction.  It  was  his  charming  privilege  that 
a  garden  naturally  blossomed  under  his  hands. 

Mrs.  Paragon  encouraged  in  every  possible 
way  her  husband's  love  of  the  soil.  Instinctively 
she  divined  that  here  he  was  best,  and  that  here 
he  was  nearest  herself.  She  was  rarely  without 
some  of  his  flowers  upon  her  table  or  pinned  in 
her  dress;  and  when  on  free  days  Mr.  Paragon 
spent  absorbed  and  laborious  hours  in  the  garden, 
Mrs.  Paragon  brought  him  cheese  and  beer,  or 
tea  and  muffins,  waiting  at  his  elbow,  interested 
and  critical,  while  he  discussed  his  plans,  and 
asked  her  for  advice  which  he  never  regarded. 
Had  Mrs.  Paragon  neglected  to  feed  him  on  these 
occasions  he  would  not  have  noticed  it,  for  he  lost 
all  count  of  time,  and  did  not  remember  he  was 
hungry  till  darkness  came. 

The  most  striking  event  of  the  year  for  Mr. 
Paragon  and  his  house  was  the  disposal  of  the 
season's  rubbish.  For  twelve  months  it  accumu- 
lated in  a  large  hole,  rotting  in  the  rain  and  sun. 
Mr.  Paragon  dug  it  carefully  into  the  soil  at  the 
end  of  the  year,  using  it  as  a  foundation  for  beds 
and  banks.  Usually  the  whole  family  assisted  at 
the  carting  of  the  rubbish,  with  a  box  on  wheels. 

Peter  was  master  of  the  convoy  for  carting 
the  rubbish,  and  this  was  a  military  enterprise. 


1 6  PETER  PARAGON 

Miranda  harassed  his  operations  to  the  best  of  her 
ability.  There  were  ambuscades,  surprises,  ex- 
cursions and  alarms. 

Mr.  Smith  looked  upon  these  operations  with 
delight.  He  liked  to  see  Mr.  Paragon  at  work  in 
the  garden.  He  was  proud  of  his  successful 
neighbour,  and  took  real  pleasure  in  his  com- 
petence. Moreover,  he  delighted  in  Peter's 
lively  and  interesting  pretences.  He  would  him- 
self have  led  the  attack  upon  Peter's  convoy  had 
he  been  free  of  Mrs.  Smith's  critical  and  con- 
temptuous survey  from  the  back-parlour  window. 
Once  he  had  actively  taken  part,  and  Mrs.  Smith 
discovered  him  on  all  fours  among  the  goose- 
berries, whence  he  had  intended  to  create  a  diver- 
sion in  Peter's  rear.  The  rational  frigidity  with 
which  she  had  come  from  the  house  to  inquire 
what  he  imagined  himself  to  be  doing  effectually 
prevented  a  repetition. 

This  afternoon  there  was  a  sharp  encounter. 
This  was  a  great  moment  in  Peter's  life  ow- 
ing to  a  brief,  almost  instantaneous,  passage. 
Miranda  met  Peter's  onslaught  in  her  manly 
fashion,  and  soon  they  were  locked  in  a  desperate 
embrace.  Suddenly  Peter  saw  Miranda,  as  it 
seemed  to  him  afterwards,  for  the  first  time.  Her 
head  was  flung  back,  her  cheeks  crimsonly  defiant, 
eyes  shining,  and  hair  scattered.  For  Peter  it 
was  a  vision.  He  saw  with  uneasy  terror  that 
Miranda  was  beautiful.  He  had  a  quailing  in- 
stinct to  release  her.  It  passed;  but  Miranda 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  17 

met  the  look  that  came  into  his  eyes  and  under- 
stood. 

Who  can  say  how  softly  and  insensibly  the 
change  had  been  prepared?  The  books  they  had 
read;  the  strange  couples  that  walked  in  the 
evening,  curiously  linked;  the  half-thoughts  and 
surmises;  queer  little  impulses  of  cruelty  or 
tenderness  that  had  passed  between  them  —  all 
were  suddenly  gathered  up. 

Peter  realised  the  difference  in  his  life  that  this 
moment  had  made  for  him  in  the  late  evening 
when  Mr.  Paragon  was  showing  him  a  transit  of 
Jupiter's  third  moon.  Astronomy  was  a  pas- 
sion with  Mr.  Paragon.  Astronomy  overthrew 
Genesis  and  confounded  religion.  He  had  picked 
up  cheap  a  six-inch  reflecting  telescope,  and  very 
frequently  on  fine  evenings  he  probed  the  heavens 
for  uninspected  nebulae,  resolved  double  stars, 
mapped  the  surface  of  the  moon,  followed  the 
fascinating  mutation  of  the  variables.  Peter  was 
very  soon  attracted  and  absorbed  into  his  father's 
pastime.  It  had  a  breathless  appeal  for  him. 
Awed  and  excited,  he  would  project  his  mind  into 
the  measureless  dark  spaces.  It  was  an  adven- 
ture. Sometimes  they  would  rise  after  midnight, 
and  these  were  the  times  Peter  loved  best.  The 
extreme  quiet  of  the  hour;  loneliness  upon  earth 
giving  a  keener  edge  to  the  loneliness  of  heaven; 
the  silence  of  the  sleeping  street  lending  almost  a 
terror  to  the  imagined  silence  of  space;  the  secret 
flavour  which  crept  into  the  enterprise  from  the 


1 8  PETER  PARAGON 

mere  fact  of  waking  while  the  world  was  asleep 
—  all  this  gave  to  the  situation,  for  Peter,  an 
agreeable  poignancy.  Already  he  had  discovered 
the  appeal  of  Shelley,  and  he  would  repeat,  pleas- 
antly shuddering,  passages  of  his  favourite  story: 

"  I  have  made  my  bed 

In  charnels  and  on  coffins,  where  black  death 
Keeps  record  of  the  trophies  won  from  thee, 
Hoping   to   still  these   obstinate  questionings 
Of  thee  and  thine,  by  forcing  some  lone  ghost, 
Thy  messenger,  to  render  up  the  tale 
Of  what  we  are." 

The  contrast  was  striking  at  these  times  between 
Peter  and  his  father.  For  Mr.  Paragon  every 
double  star  resolved  was  a  nail  in  the  coffin 
of  the  Established  Church;  every  wonder  of 
the  skies,  inspected  and  verified,  was  a  confirma- 
tion that  society  was  built  on  stubble.  But  for 
Peter  these  excursions  were  food  for  fancy,  the 
stuff  of  his  dreams.  He  soared  into  space,  not 
as  Mr.  Paragon  intended,  to  discover  the  fraud  of 
priests  and  kings,  but  to  voyage  with  Shelley's 
Mab  through  the  beautiful  stars. 

To-night  the  adventure  had  lost  its  edge. 
Nothing  could  be  more  exciting  than  a  transit  of 
Jupiter's  third  moon.  The  gradual  approach  of 
the  tiny  moon  to  the  edge  of  the  planet;  its 
momentary  extinction;  the  slow  passage  of  the 
little  shadow  on  the  cloud-bright  surface  —  the 
loveliness  of  this  miniature  play  was  sharpened  for 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  19 

Peter  by  knowledge  of  its  immensity.  Mr.  Para- 
gon gave  up  the  telescope  to  Peter,  and  waited  for 
breathless  exclamation.  But  Peter  was  silent. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Paragon,  "  can't  you  see  it?  " 
'  Yes,"  answered  Peter  indifferently. 

"  Perhaps  the  focus  isn't  quite  right,"  suggested 
Mr.  Paragon.  He  looked  anxiously  at  Peter. 
Peter's  indifference  was  unusual. 

"  It's  all  right,  father,  I  can  see  it  well.  It's  a 
black  spot,  and  it's  moving  across." 

"  Wonderful !  "  said  Mr.  Paragon.  "  Think 
of  it,  Peter.  Jupiter  to-night  is  60,000,000 
miles  away.  It  would  easily  hold  1300  of  us, 
and  it's  got  five  moons.  Looks  as  if  it  were  made 
for  lighting  people  to  bed,  don't  it?  " 

"  Yes,  father,"  said  Peter  without  interest. 

Peter's  fancy  had  suddenly  flown  to  a  passage 
in  Romeo  and  Juliet,  hitherto  passed  as  absurd  — 
something  about  cutting  up  Romeo  into  little  stars. 
Peter  smelled  the  wet  earth  and  remembered 
Miranda.  His  imagination  to-night  refused  the 
cold  voyage  into  space.  His  father's  figures,  after 
which  his  mind  had  so  often  adventurously 
strained,  were  senseless. 

His  attention  fell  suddenly  asleep  at  the 
telescope. 

He  realised  that  his  father  was  asking  him 
whether  the  transit  was  finished.  He  started  into 
watchfulness  and  replied,  still  indifferently,  that 
it  was. 

Mr.  Paragon  was  mortified.     He  showed  Peter 


20  PETER  PARAGON 

the  wonders  of  the  universe  with  a  sort  of  pro- 
prietary satisfaction.  He  was  proud  of  the  size 
of  Jupiter.  He  was  personally  exalted  that  the 
distance  between  the  earth  and  the  moon  should 
be  240,000  miles.  He  had  the  pride  of  a  con- 
scientious cicerone;  of  the  native  who  does  the 
honours  of  his  town.  Peter  to-night  was  dis- 
appointing. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Paragon  desperately,  "  what 
do  you  think  of  it?  " 

"  It  was  very  clear,"  Peter  dutifully  answered. 

"  There's  not  many  lads  your  age,"  grumbled 
Mr.  Paragon,  "  that  have  seen  a  transit  of  Jupi- 
ter's third  moon." 

"  I  know,"  said  Peter,  trying  to  feel  excited 
and  grateful.  He  had  been  looking  forward  to 
this  evening  for  weeks.  Why  was  he  unable  to 
enjoy  it? 

He  repeated  the  question  to  himself  as,  half 
an  hour  later,  he  lay  peacefully  in  bed.  Then  he 
found  himself  trying  to  remember  the  exact 
phrase  about  Romeo  and  the  little  stars. 


IV 

PETER  went  daily  to  school  in  a  dirty  quarter  of 
the  town  at  least  two  miles  from  home.  The 
house  of  the  Paragons  was  upon  the  borders  of 
the  western  or  fashionable  suburb  of  Haming- 
burgh.  The  school  barely  escaped  the  great 
manufacturing  district  to  the  east  and  south.  It 
was  a  branch  school  of  the  great  local  founda- 
tion of  King  Edward  VI.  In  the  phrase  of  the 
local  roughs,  through  whose  courts  and  alleys  he 
passed,  Peter  was  a  "  grammar-cat." 

He  was  supposed  to  go  to  school  by  the  main 
road,  where  he  was  more  or  less  under  the  pro- 
tection of  the  police.  For  between  the  roughs 
and  the  grammar-cats  was  perpetual  war;  and  to 
take  the  shorter  route  through  the  courts  and 
alleys  was  an  act  of  provocation.  But  Peter 
hankered  after  the  forbidden  road.  His  father, 
showing  him  the  way  to  school,  had  stopped  at  a 
certain  corner: 

"  This,"  he  said,  "  is  the  shortest  way;  but  you 
had  better  go  round  by  the  main  road." 

"Why?"  Peter  had  asked. 

"  It's  a  nasty  neighbourhood,"  said  Mr. 
Paragon. 

From  that  moment  the  shortest  route  became 
for  Peter  a  North-West  Passage.  He  would 

21 


22  PETER  PARAGON 

stand  at  the  fatal  corner,  looking  up  the  street 
with  its  numberless  small  entries.  Then,  on  a 
memorable  day,  he  plunged. 

First  he  had  a  soaring  sense  of  his  audacity. 
He  felt  he  had  left  the  laws  behind.  To  win 
through  now  must  entirely  depend  on  his  personal 
resource.  At  the  doors  of  an  immense  factory 
men,  women,  and  boys  stood  in  line,  waiting  for 
the  signal  to  blow  them  into  work.  Peter  felt 
with  a  sinking  at  the  stomach  that  he  was  an 
object  of  curiosity.  He  indeed  looked  strangely 
out  of  place  in  his  neat  suit  of  a  small  tar,  with  a 
sailor's  knot  foppishly  fastened  at  the  breast. 
The  curious  eyes  of  the  waiting  group  followed 
him  up  the  street.  He  was  painfully  aware,  as 
he  passed,  that  jocular  remarks  in  sleepy  midland 
slang  were  freely  exchanged  upon  his  apparition. 
Higher  up  the  street  a  little  rough  stopped  for  a 
moment  and  stared,  then  started  into  an  alley 
screaming. 

The  street  was  suddenly  alive.  Peter,  flinging 
self-respect  to  the  winds,  started  to  run.  A  stone 
caught  him  smartly  on  the  heel,  and  he  thought 
he  was  lost.  But  another  cry  was  almost  im- 
mediately sounded.  The  helmet  of  a  policeman 
came  glinting  up  the  street. 

The  roughs  vanished  as  quickly  as  they  had 
appeared. 

Peter  did  not  again  venture  into  this  district 
alone.  At  least  a  dozen  of  his  school  friends 
lived  in  the  western  suburb.  He  formed  them 


23 

into  a  company,  which  daily  took  the  forbidden 
way  to  school.  Such  was  the  origin  of  a  feud 
whose  deeds  and  passages  would  fill  a  chronicle. 
Peter's  company  was  long  remembered. 

He  soon  made  some  striking  discoveries.  You 
cannot  fight  with  a  persistent  enemy,  even  though 
his  methods  are  not  your  methods,  without  touch- 
ing his  good  points.  It  soon  became  evident  that 
he  and  the  roughs  were  less  bitterly  opposed  than 
either  of  them  was  to  the  police.  It  was  also 
clear  that  the  men  and  women  of  the  factory  were 
"  sports."  They  encouraged  the  boys  quite  im- 
partially, and  saw  fair  play. 

Peter  particularly  remembered  one  morning  of 
snow  and  dirt  outside  the  big  factory,  when  he 
slipped  and  fell,  squirming  with  bitter  pain  of  a 
snowball  hard  as  ice  in  his  ear.  A  stalwart 
woman  with  naked  arms  grimed  with  lead,  picked 
him  up  and  pressed  him  in  a  comfortable  and 
friendly  way  against  her  bosom.  She  was  in  that 
dark  hour  an  angel  of  strength  and  solace.  The 
incident  always  lived  in  Peter's  memory  along  with 
the  faint  smell  in  his  nostrils  of  the  factory  grime. 

On  the  morning  after  the  transit  of  Jupiter's 
third  moon  Peter  was  late.  His  company  had  not 
waited.  Peter  had  to  pass  his  enemies  alone. 

He  still  wondered  at  the  change  which  had 
come  over  him  yesterday.  Nothing  that  morning 
seemed  of  the  least  importance  save  a  curious 
necessity  to  be  still  and  inquire  of  himself  what 
had  happened. 


24  PETER  PARAGON 

He  thought  only  of  Miranda,  wondering  why 
he  saw  her  now  at  a  distance. 

A  company  of  roughs  lay  between  Peter  and  his 
friends.  He  was  cut  off;  but  it  did  not  seem  to 
matter.  Everything  that  morning  was  unreal. 
He  walked  quite  indifferently  towards  them. 
They  seemed  so  remote  that,  had  they  vanished 
into  air,  he  would  not  have  been  surprised. 

Peter  pushed  loftily  past  a  handsome  young 
rough. 

"  Now  then,"  said  the  fellow. 

"  Let  me  pass,"  said  Peter,  curiously  pedantic 
beside  the  other. 

"  Not  so  fast." 

"  Let  go  of  my  arm,"  said  Peter. 

"  Not  much,"  said  the  enemy. 

Peter  flew  into  a  rage. 

"  Funk,"  he  said,  without  point  or  reason. 

"  Say  it  again." 

"  Funk." 

"Who's  a  funk?" 

"  You  are." 

"  Are  you  calling  me  a  funk?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Say  it  again." 

"  Funk."" 

There  was  a  deadlock.  Peter  must  try  some- 
thing else. 

"See  this  face?"  he  inquired  with  deadly  of- 
fensiveness,  thrusting  forward  his  countenance 
for  exhibition. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  25 

"  Take  it  away,"  said  the  other. 

"  Hit  it,"  said  Peter. 

"  I  shall  if  you  don't  take  it  away." 

"  Just  you  hit  it." 

Peter's  enemy  did  hit  it.  Immediately  a  ring 
was  formed.  Peter  fell  back  into  his  mood  of 
indifference  to  the  world.  This  fight  was  a 
nuisance,  but  it  had  to  go  on. 

They  fought  three  vigorous  rounds.  From 
every  court  and  alley  spectators  poured.  Win- 
dows were  flung  up. 

Then  a  policeman  was  seen,  and  in  ten  seconds 
the  street  was  empty  again.  Peter  jogged  off  to 
the  main  road.  The  roughs  scattered  into  holes. 

Peter,  late  for  school,  came  up  for  inspection 
with  a  swollen  lip  and  an  eye  which  became  more 
remarkable  as  time  went  on.  But  pain  this  morn- 
ing meant  as  little  to  Peter  as  reproof.  He  was 
unable  to  take  things  seriously.  He  felt  curiously 
above  them. 

Home  at  midday  he  avoided  his  family.  He 
felt  a  necessity  to  be  alone,  to  dream  and  to  exult 
over  something  that  had  neither  shape  nor  name. 
He  went  into  a  secret  passage. 

This  secret  passage  was  intimately  bound  up 
with  his  life  of  adventure.  The  gardens  of 
Peter's  road  met  at  the  bottom  the  gardens  of  a 
parallel  highway.  The  two  rows  were  parted  by 
a  line  of  trees  and  a  wall.  On  the  farther  side 
of  the  wall  a  thick  hedge,  planted  a  few  feet  from 
the  foot  of  the  wall,  had  been  trained  to  meet  it 


26  PETER  PARAGON 

overhead.  After  many  years  it  formed  a  natural 
green  tunnel  between  the  gardens.  This  tunnel, 
cleared  of  dead  shoots  and  leaves,  was  large 
enough  for  Peter  and  Miranda  to  crawl  from  end 
to  end  of  the  wall's  foot,  and  gave  them  access, 
after  pioneering,  to  the  trees  which  rose  regu- 
larly from  the  midst  of  the  hedge. 

Peter  to-day  climbed  into  the  secret  passage, 
not  for  adventure  but  to  be  alone.  The  old  life 
seemed  very  remote.  Could  he  really  have  be- 
lieved that  the  tree  against  which  he  leaned 
was  a  fortress  that  had  cost  him  ten  thousand 
men? 

A  humble  bee  bustled  into  the  shade  and  fell, 
overloaded  with  pollen.  Peter  watched  it  closely. 
Already  he  found  himself  seeing  little  things  — 
their  beauty  and  a  vague  impulse  in  himself  to 
express  it. 

Peter's  indifference  to  the  impertinent  call  of 
the  things  of  yesterday  was  quite  wonderful. 

"Hullo!"  said  Mr.  Paragon  at  dinner, 
"  you've  been  fighting." 

"  Yes,  father,"  said  Peter. 

"  Goodness  gracious ! "  Mrs.  Paragon  ex- 
claimed. "  Look  at  Peter's  face  1  " 

"  Yes,  mother,"  said  Peter. 

"Tell  us  about  it,  my  boy,"  twinkled  Mr. 
Paragon. 

"  There's  nothing  to  tell,  father." 

"  Was  he  a  big  boy?  "  Mr.  Paragon  asked. 

11  Middling." 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  27 

"Did  you  beat  him?" 

"  No,  father." 

"Did  he  beat  you?" 

"  No,  father." 

Mr.  Paragon  looked  at  Peter  with  misgiving. 

"  Mary,"  said  Mr.  Paragon  in  the  late  evening, 
"  Peter's  growing  up." 

They  were  sitting  together  in  the  garden,  Mr. 
Paragon  smoking  a  pipe  after  supper.  It  was 
warm  and  quiet,  with  occasional  light  noises  from 
the  wood  and  the  near  houses.  It  was  Mr.  Para- 
gon's moment  of  peace  —  a  time  for  minor 
meditations,  softened  by  the  stars  and  the  flowers, 
equally  his  by  right  of  conquest. 

Mrs.  Paragon  sighed.  She  divined  a  coming 
rift  between  herself  and  Peter. 

"  He  is  very  young,"  she  protested. 

"  He  was  always  older  than  his  years,"  said 
Mr.  Paragon;  and,  after  a  silence,  he  added: 
"  Don't  lose  touch  with  the  boy,  Mary.  We  have 
got  to  help  him  over  these  discoveries.  Life's  too 
fine  to  be  picked  up  anyhow." 

"  It's  not  easy  to  keep  with  the  young.  There's 
so  much  to  understand." 

Mrs.  Paragon  said  this  a  little  sadly,  and  Mr. 
Paragon  felt  bound  to  comfort  her. 

"  Peter's  a  good  boy,"  he  said. 

Meantime  Peter  in  his  attic  was  not  asleep.  It 
was  his  habit,  shut  in  his  room  for  the  night,  to 
climb  through  the  skylight,  and  sit  upon  a  flat 
and  cozy  space  of  the  roof  by  the  warm  chimney. 


28  PETER  PARAGON 

There  he  was  frequently  joined  by  Miranda  from 
the  attic  of  the  next  house. 

But  Peter  sat  this  evening  at  the  window.  The 
garden  was  quick  with  faint  play  of  the  wind;  and 
Peter's  ears  were  sensitive  to  small  noises 
of  the  trees. 

There  was  a  faint  tapping  upon  the  wall. 
Peter  was  instantly  alert,  and  as  instantly  amazed 
at  the  effect  upon  himself  of  this  familiar  signal. 
He  had  heard  it  a  hundred  times.  It  was  thus 
that  he  and  Miranda  communicated  with  one  an- 
other when  they  went  up  to  their  nook  by 
the  chimney. 

He  looked  into  the  dark  room.  The  signal 
was  repeated,  but  he  sat  by  the  window  like  ala- 
baster, his  heart  beating  in  his  ears. 

The  knocking  ceased,  and  for  a  long  while 
Peter  sat  still  as  a  stone.  Then  he  sprang  at  the 
cord  of  the  skylight  window,  opened  it  and  crept 
out.  Miranda  was  perched  between  the  chim- 
neys. It  was  quite  dark.  Peter  could  only  see 
that  she  was  staring  away  from  him. 

"  Miranda !  "  His  voice  trembled  and  broke, 
but  she  did  not  move. 

He  knew  now  he  had  not  been  dreaming. 
Miranda,  too,  was  changed.  He  felt  it  in  the 
poise  of  her  averted  face  and  in  her  silence. 

He  waited  to  say  he  knew  not  what,  and  stayed 
there,  a  queer  figure  sitting  astride  the  slates. 
Miranda's  arm  lay  along  the  skylight.  He 
touched  her. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  29 

She  caught  her  breath,  and  Peter  knew  she  was 
crying. 

"  Miranda,"  he  called,  "  why  are  you  crying?  " 

She  turned  in  the  dark  and  a  tear  splashed  on 
his  hand. 

"I'm  not  crying!"  she  flashed.  "I  thought 
you  were  never  coming,"  she  added  inconse- 
quently. 

It  was  Peter's  first  encounter  with  a  woman. 
He  was  for  a  moment  checked. 

"Miranda!"  he  said;  and  again  his  voice 
trembled  and  broke  on  the  name.  Miranda,  in  a 
single  day  as  old  as  a  thousand  years,  vibrated  to 
the  word  half-uttered.  She  dropped  her  head  into 
her  hands,  and  wept  aloud. 

Peter  held  her  tight,  speaking  now  at  random. 

"  I  always  meant  to  come,"  he  quavered. 
'  You  know  I  always  meant  to  come.  Miranda, 
don't  cry  so.  I  was  afraid  when  first  I  heard  you 
knocking." 

*  You'll  always  love  me,  Peter." 

"  For  ever  and  ever." 

Every  little  sound  was  .  exaggerated.  There 
was  a  low  mutter  of  voices  in  the  garden  below. 
Peter  saw  the  glow  of  his  father's  pipe.  So  near 
it  seemed,  he  fancied  he  could  smell  the  tobacco. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Paragon,  talking  of  Peter,  sat 
later  than  usual.  Before  going  to  bed,  they  went 
into  the  attic,  and  stood  together  for  a  while. 
Peter  had  fallen  happily  asleep.  Miranda  was 
comforted,  and  he  was  lifted  above  all  the  heroes. 


30  PETER  PARAGON 

The  shadow  of  adolescence  lay  upon  him.  His 
mother  saw  it,  and,  as  she  kissed  him,  it  seemed 
as  if  she  were  bidding  him  farewell  upon  a  great 
adventure. 


PETER  in  common  daylight  carefully  examined  his 
face  in  the  looking-glass.  His  left  eye  was  a 
painter's  palette.  He  ruefully  remembered  that 
the  fight  had  yet  to  be  finished.  He  was  bound  to 
offer  his  adversary  an  opportunity  of  completing 
the  good  work,  and  he  distinctly  quailed.  Peter 
was  this  morning  upon  solid  earth.  The  crisis 
was  past.  He  knew  now  that  he  had  quickly  to 
be  a  man,  to  get  knowledge  and  wealth  and  power. 

Boys  at  Peter's  branch  of  the  foundation  of 
King  Edward  VI  could  no  higher  ascend  into 
knowledge  than  the  binomial  theorem.  Peter, 
not  yet  fifteen,  was  already  head  of  the  school  — 
the  favourite  pupil  of  his  masters,  easily  leading 
in  learning  and  cricket.  Already  it  was  a  question 
whether  he  should  or  should  not  proceed  to  the 
High  School  where  Greek  and  the  Calculus  were 
to  be  had. 

Peter's  career  was  already  a  problem.  Mr. 
Paragon  inclined  to  believe  that  the  best  thing  for 
a  boy  of  fifteen  was  to  turn  into  business,  leaving 
Greek  to  the  parsons.  Mrs.  Paragon  had  dif- 
ferent views.  Peter  was  yet  unaware  of  this  dis- 
cussion, nor  had  he  wondered  what  would  happen 
when  the  time  came  for  leaving  his  first  school. 

Peter's  company  raised  a  chorus  when  they  be- 
31 


32  PETER  PARAGON 

held  him.  They  explained  to  Peter  what  his  face 
was  like.  They  were  proud  of  it.  A  terrible  and 
bloody  fellow  was  their  captain. 

When  Peter  met  his  adversary  each  noted  with 
pleasure  that  the  other  was  honourably  marked. 

The  handsome  rough  thrust  out  a  large  red 
hand. 

"  Take  it  or  leave  it,"  he  said. 

Peter  took  it.  The  bells  were  calling  in  a  final 
burst,  and  he  passed  rapidly  on  with  his  company. 
It  was  peace  with  honour. 

Peter  was  in  a  resolute  grapple  with  the  bino- 
mial theorem  when  a  call  came  for  him  to  go  into 
the  headmaster's  room.  Peter,  delicately  feeling 
his-  battered  face,  followed  the  school-porter  with 
misgiving. 

"  Paragon,"  said  the  headmaster,  "  I  don't  like 
your  face.  It  isn't  respectable." 

Peter  writhed  softly,  aware  that  he  was  ironi- 
cally contemplated. 

"  This  fighting  in  the  streets,"  continued  the 
headmaster,  "  is  becoming  a  public  nuisance.  I 
should  be  sorry  to  believe  that  any  of  our  boys 
provoked  it.  I  hope  it  was  self-defence." 

"  Mostly,  sir,"  said  Peter. 

"  I  rely  upon  you,  Paragon,  to  avoid  making  the 
school  a  nuisance  to  the  parish." 

"  I  realise  my  responsibility,  sir." 
1  Peter  was  quite  serious,  and  the  headmaster  did 
not  smile. 

"  Now,  Paragon,"  he  said,  "  I  want  to  talk  to 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  33 

you  about  something  else.  I  have  just  written  to 
your  father.  Do  you  know  what  you  would  like 
to  do  when  you  leave  school?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Peter. 

Peter  had,  in  fancy,  invented  posts  for  himself 
that  would  tax  to  the  fullest  extent  his  complicated 
genius.  He  had  lived  a  hundred  lives.  Never- 
theless, bluntly  asked  whether  he  had  thought 
about  his  future,  he  as  bluntly  answered  "  No," 
and  knew  in  a  moment  that  the  answer  was  dread- 
fully true.  His  cloud  cuckooland  of  battle  and 
success,  magnificent  with  pictures  of  himself  in  all 
the  great  attitudes  of  history,  vanished  at  a  simple 
question.  He  was  rapidly  growing  old. 

The  headmaster  continued,  pitilessly  sensible. 

"  I  want  you  to  go  on  with  your  education,"  he 
said.  "  You  have  done  very  well  with  us  here. 
I  have  written  to  your  father  urging  him  to  send 
you  to  the  High  School  where  it  will  be  possible 
for  you  to  qualify  for  the  University.  I  want  you, 
before  you  see  your  father,  to  make  up  your  mind 
what  you  want  to  do." 

Peter  left  the  headmaster's  room  with  a  sense 
of  loss.  The  glamour  had  gone  out  of  life.  His 
future,  vast  and  uncertain,  had  in  a  moment  nar- 
rowed to  a  practical  issue.  Should  he  go  on  to 
another  school,  or  into  some  office  of  the  town? 
These  were  dreary  alternatives.  Already  he  was 
fifteen  years  old,  and  he  had  somehow  to  be  the 
most  famous  man  in  the  world  within  the  next 
five  years. 


34  PETER  PARAGON 

Peter's  father  went  that  day  to  visit  his  brother- 
in-law. 

Henry  Prout,  Peter's  uncle  and  godfather,  had 
at  this  time  retired  from  the  retailing  of  hard- 
ware. He  was  wealthy,  an  alderman  of  the  town, 
and  a  bachelor.  He  took  a  father's  interest  in 
his  nephew.  There  was  a  tacit,  very  indefinite 
assumption  that  in  all  which  nearly  concerned 
his  sister's  son  Henry  had  a  right  to  be  con- 
sulted. 

When  Peter  heard  his  father  had  gone  round  to 
his  uncle's  house  he  knew  his  career  was  that 
evening  to  be  decided. 

Henry  Prout  was  a  copy  in  gross  of  his  sister. 
Mrs.  Paragon  was  queenly  and  fair.  Henry  was 
large  and  florid.  Mrs.  Paragon  was  amiable  and 
full  of  peace.  Henry  was  genial  and  lazy.  Mrs. 
Paragon  equably  accepted  life  from  a  naturally 
perfect  balance  of  character,  Henry  from  a  nat- 
urally perfect  confidence  in  the  inclinations  of  his 
rosy  and  abundant  flesh. 

Uncle  Henry  had  one  large  regret.  He  had 
had  no  education,  and  he  greatly  envied  the  people 
who  had.  His  admiration  for  the  results  of  edu- 
cation was  really  a  part  of  his  indolence.  He 
admired  the  readiness  and  ease  with  which 
educated  people  disposed  of  problems  which  cost 
him  painful  efforts  of  the  brain.  Education  was 
for  Uncle  Henry  a  royal  way  to  the  settlement  of 
every  difficult  thing.  If  you  had  education,  life 
was  an  arm-chair.  If  you  had  it  not,  life  was  a 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  35 

necessity  to  think  things  laboriously  out  for 
yourself. 

Uncle  Henry  had  made  up  his  mind  that  Peter 
should  have  the  best  education  money  could  buy. 
Peter,  he  determined,  should  learn  Greek. 

"  Well,  George,"  he  said  in  his  comfortable 
thick  voice,  "  what's  it  going  to  be?  " 

He  was  not  yet  alluding  to  Peter's  career,  but 
to  some  bottles  on  the  little  table  between  them. 

"  Half  and  half,"  said  George. 

"  Help  yourself,"  said  Henry,  adding,  as  Mr. 
Paragon  portioned  out  his  whisky,  "  How's 
sister?" 

"  Up  to  the  mark  every  time." 

"  She's  all  right.  There's  not  a  more  healthy 
woman  in  England  than  sister." 

Henry  paused  a  little  in  reflection  upon  the 
virtues  of  Mrs.  Paragon.  He  then  continued. 

"How's  the  boy?" 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Mr.  Paragon,  "  he's 
growing  up." 

"  Fifteen  next  December." 

"  Old  for  his  age,"  said  Mr.  Paragon,  nodding 
between  the  lines. 

Uncle  Henry  thoughtfully  compressed  his  lips. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose  the  boy  will  have 
to  find  out  what  he's  made  of." 

"  He's  very  thick  next  door,"  suggested  Mr. 
Paragon  with  a  meaning  eye. 

"  I've  noticed  her,  George.  She'll  soon  be  find- 
ing out  a  thing  or  two  for  herself." 


36  PETER  PARAGON 

"  There's  a  handsome  woman  there,"  said  Mr. 
Paragon. 

"  Well  enough." 

They  paused  again  in  contemplation  of  possi- 
bilities in  Miranda. 

"  I've  had  a  letter,"  said  Mr.  Paragon  at  last. 
The  headmaster's  sheet  was  handed  over,  and 
carefully  deciphered. 

"  Writes  a  shocking  hand,"  said  Uncle  Henry. 
"  That's  education.  Peter's  hand,"  he  added  con- 
tentedly, "  is  worse.  I  can't  make  head  or  tail  of 
what  Peter  writes." 

Henry  mixed  himself  another  whisky.  "  They 
seem  to  think  a  great  lot  of  him,"  he  said  thought- 
fully. "  That  about  the  Scholarships,  for  instance. 
They  say  he'll  get  the  £30.  Then  he  goes  to  the 
High  School  and  gets  £50,  and  £80  at  the  Uni- 
versity. Think  of  that,  George." 

"  I  don't  hold  with  it,"  Mr.  Paragon  broke  out. 

"  Education,"  Henry  began. 

"  Education  yourself,"  interrupted  Mr.  Para- 
gon. "  What's  the  good  of  all  that  second-hand 
stuff?" 

"  It  helps." 

"  Yes.  It  helps  to  make  a  nob  of  my  son.  It's 
little  he'll  learn  at  the  University  except  to  take  off 
his  hat  to  people  no  better  than  himself." 

"  Can't  you  trust  him?" 

"  Peter's  all  right,"  Mr.  Paragon  jealously 
admitted. 

"  There's  no  harm  in  a  bit  of  Greek.     You  talk 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  37 

as  if  it  was  going  to  turn  him  straight  off  into  a 
bishop." 

Uncle  Henry  paused,  and,  desiring  to  make  a 
point,  took  the'  hearthrug. 

"  I  can't  understand  you,"  he  continued,  with 
legs  well  apart.  "  If  Peter  is  going  to  have  my 
money,  he's  got  to  learn  how  to  spend  it.  Look  at 
myself.  I  have  had  sense  to  make  a  bit  of  money, 
but  I've  got  no  more  idea  of  spending  it  than  a 
baby.  I  want  Peter  to  learn." 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Paragon.  "  But 
what's  going  to  happen  to  Peter  when  he  gets  into 
the  hands  of  a  lot  of  doctors?  " 

"  Peter  must  take  his  chance." 

"  It's  well  for  you  to  talk.  You're  as  blue  as 
they're  made,  and  a  churchwarden  of  the  parish." 

Uncle  Henry  solemnly  put  down  his  glass. 
"  George,"  he  said,  "  it  does  not  matter  to  a  mortal 
fool  what  I  am,  nor  what  you  are.  Peter's  got 
to  find  things  out  for  himself.  He'll  get  past 
you  and  me;  and,  whether  he  comes  out  your  side 
or  mine,  he'll  have  more  in  his  head." 

Uncle  Henry  ended  with  an  air  of  having  closed 
the  discussion,  and,  after  some  friendly  meditation, 
whose  results  were  flung  out  in  the  fashion  of  men 
too  used  to  each  other's  habit  of  thought  to  need 
elaborate  intercourse,  Mr.  Paragon  rose  and  went 
thoughtfully  home. 

By  the  time  he  reached  the  Kidderminster  Road 
he  had  definitely  settled  the  question  of  Peter's 
career.  Peter  should  get  knowledge.  He  should 


38  PETER  PARAGON 

possess  the  inner  fortress  of  learning.  He  should 
be  the  perfect  knight  of  the  oppressed  people, 
armed  at  all  points.  Thus  did  Mr.  Paragon 
reconcile  his  Radical  prejudices  with  his  fatherly 
ambition. 

Arrived  home,  he  showed  the  headmaster's 
letter  to  Mrs.  Paragon. 

She  read  it  with  the  pride  of  a  mother  who 
knows  the  worth  of  her  boy,  but  nevertheless  likes 
it  to  be  acknowledged. 

Mr.  Paragon  watched  her  as  she  read. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  answering  her  thoughts, 
"  Peter's  all  right." 

Mrs.  Paragon  handed  back  the  letter. 

"  I  suppose,"  suggested  Mr.  Paragon,  airily 
magnificent,  "  he  had  better  go  on  with  his 
education?  " 

"  Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Paragon. 

Mr.  Paragon  knew  at  once  that  if  he  had  per- 
sisted in  taking  Peter  from  school  he  would  have 
had  to  persuade  his  wife  that  it  was  right  to  do 
so.  He  also  knew  that  this  would  have  been  very 
difficult. 

Fortunately,  however,  he  had  decided  other- 
wise. He  could  flatter  himself  now  that  he  had 
settled  this  grave  question  himself.  It  was  true, 
in  a  sense,  that  he  had.  Mr.  Paragon  had  not  for 
nothing  lived  with  his  wife  for  nearly  seventeen 
years. 


VI 

PETER  was  not  happy  at  the  High  School.  It  is 
disconcerting,  when  you  have  been  First  Boy  and 
a  Captain,  to  be  put  among  inferior  creatures  to 
learn  Greek.  Peter  had  risen  with  his  former 
friends  from  the  lowest  to  the  highest;  they  had 
grown  together  in  sport  and  learning.  Now  he 
found  himself  in  a  middle  form,  an  interloper 
among  cliques  already  established.  Moreover, 
the  boys  at  the  High  School,  where  education  for 
such  as  could  not  obtain  a  foundation  scholarship 
was  more  expensive  than  at  the  lower  branches, 
were  of  a  superior  quality,  with  nicer  manners  and 
a  more  delicate  way  of  speaking.  He  was  a 
stranger. 

At  sixteen  Peter  was  almost  a  man.  His  father 
had  always  met  him  upon  an  intellectual  equality. 
They  had  talked  upon  the  gravest  matters.  Peter 
had  voraciously  read  a  thousand  books  which  he 
did  not  altogether  understand.  It  needed  only 
physical  adolescence  to  show  him  how  far  he  had 
outstripped  the  friends  of  his  age. 

The  lot  of  a  precocious  boy  is  not  a  happy  one, 
and  Peter  paid  the  penalty.  He  made  not  a  single 
friend  during  his  two  years  at  the  new  school. 
He  lived  gravely  after  his  own  devices,  quiet,  ob- 
servant, superficially  accessible  to  the  kind  ad- 

39 


40  PETER  PARAGON 

vances  of  his  masters  and  classfellows,  but  pro- 
foundly unaffected. 

Nevertheless  these  years  were  the  most  impor- 
tant of  Peter's  life,  wherein  he  learned  all  that 
his  father  was  able  to  teach  him.  Peter,  years 
after  he  had  outlived  much  of  his  early  wisdom, 
yet  looked  back  upon  this  time  as  peculiarly 
sacred  to  his  father.  From  him  he  learned  to 
accept  naturally  the  perplexing  instincts  that  now 
were  arisen  within  him.  Peter  escaped  the  usual 
unhappy  period  of  surmise  and  shamefast  per- 
plexity. 

More  particularly  these  were  the  glorious  years 
of  Peter  and  Miranda.  Peter  found  in  Miranda 
the  perfect  maid,  and  Miranda,  eager  for  knowl- 
edge and  greedy  of  adoration,  reaching  after  the 
life  of  a  woman  with  the  mind  and  body  of  a  girl, 
found  in  Peter  the  pivot  of  the  world.  In  these 
years  were  laid  the  foundations  of  an  incredible 
intimacy.  Daily  they  grew  in  a  perpetual  discov- 
ery of  themselves.  Peter  opened  to  Miranda  the 
store  of  his  knowledge.  There  was  perfect  con- 
fidence. At  an  age  when  the  secrets  of  life  are 
the  subject  of  uneasy  curiosity  at  best,  and  at 
worst  of  thoughtless  defamation,  Peter  and  Mi- 
randa talked  of  them  as  they  talked  of  their  bees 
(Peter's  latest  craze) ;  of  the  stars;  of  the  poets 
they  loved  (Miranda  was  not  yet  altogether  a 
woman:  she  loved  the  poets)  ;  of  the  life  they 
would  lead  in  the  friendly  world. 

Miranda  was  the  more  thrown  upon  Peter  as 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  41 

neither  of  her  parents  was  able  to  direct  her.  Her 
mother  was  entirely  unimaginative.  Her  fierce 
affection  for  Miranda  showed  itself  in  a  continual 
insistence  that  she  should  "behave";  read  and 
eat  only  what  was  good  for  her;  and  be  as  well,  if 
not  better,  dressed  than  the  children  of  her  neigh- 
bours. For  her  father  Miranda  had  some  affec- 
tion, but  she  could  not  respect  him.  She  saw  him 
continually  overridden  by  her  mother,  and  already 
she  overtopped  him  in  stature  by  a  head. 

The  months  went  quickly  by,  and  soon  it  was  the 
eve  of  Peter's  journey  to  Oxford  as  the  candidate 
for  an  open  scholarship.  Peter  was  nervously 
excited.  Every  little  detail,  in  his  heightened  sen- 
sibility, seemed  important.  It  was  late  summer, 
a  warm  night,  the  room  filling  rapidly  with  shad- 
ows. Miranda  sat  by  the  window,  her  face  to  the 
fallen  sun. 

The  men  were  talking  politics.  Their  lifted 
voices  grated  upon  Peter's  thoughts.  It  was  a 
time  of  strikes  and  rioting.  Mr.  Paragon,  as  an 
orator,  was  urgently  requested  in  the  streets  of 
Hamingburgh.  He  was  full  of  his  theme,  and 
extremely  angry  with  Mr.  Smith.  Mr.  Smith  was 
an  entirely  amiable  little  man,  but  he  delighted 
in  the  phrases  of  battle.  He  talked  politics  in 
a  soldier's  terms.  He  was  perpetually  storming 
the  enemy's  position  or  turning  his  rear.  The 
English  political  situation  was  in  Mr.  Smith's  view 
never  far  removed  from  war  and  revolution.  He 
delighted  in  images  of  violence.  The  mildest  of 


42  PETER  PARAGON 

small  men,  whose  nerves  were  shattered  by  an 
unexpected  noise,  he  was  always  ready  to  talk  of 
the  prime  duty  of  governments  to  stamp  out  re- 
bellion in  blood.  Mr.  Smith  could  not  pull  a 
cracker  at  Christmas  without  shutting  his  eyes  and 
getting  as  far  as  possible  from  the  explosion ;  but, 
politically,  he  was  a  Prussian. 

"  Shoot  them  down!  " 

Mr.  Smith  was  repeating  a  formula  by  now  al- 
most mechanical. 

To  Peter  it  was  desperately  familiar.  The 
men's  voices  every  now  and  then  were  overborne 
by  Mrs.  Smith  in  one  of  her  perpetual  recom- 
mendations to  Miranda. 

"  Take  your  elbows  off  the  sill,  Miranda." 

"  Yes,  mother." 

Miranda  answered  with  the  mechanical  obedi- 
ence of  a  child  who  makes  allowances. 

She  turned  at  the  same  time  into  the  room,  full 
of  the  contrast  between  the  beauty  of  the  garden 
and  the  two  absurd  figures  in  dispute  upon  the 
hearthrug.  She  looked  over  to  Peter  in  the 
shadow. 

His  eyes  were  full  of  her,  burning  with  delight. 

Miranda,  meeting  his  look,  felt  suddenly  too 
glad  for  endurance.  She  burst  from  her  seat. 

Her  mother's  voice,  thin  and  penetrating,  was 
plainly  heard  above  the  ground-bass  of  political 
argument. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Miranda?  " 

"  Into  the  garden,  mother,"  patiently  answered 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  43 

Miranda,  and  with  never  a  look  at  Peter  she 
went. 

The  men  talked  on.  Peter  quietly  followed 
Miranda  into  the  garden,  unnoticed  except  by  his 
mother. 

Mrs.  Paragon  had  read  the  lines  of  her  son's 
face.  She  sighed  as  he  slipped  away,  knowing 
that  at  that  moment  the  world  held  for  Peter  but 
one  thing  really  precious.  She  smiled,  not  bit- 
terly, but  with  indulgence,  upon  the  talking  fathers. 

Peter  and  Miranda  sat  for  many  minutes  with- 
out a  word.  The  evening  was  perfect,  the  shining 
of  stars  in  a  violet  sky  mocked  on  earth  with  the 
shining  of  great  clusters  of  evening  primrose. 
How  full  the  night  seemed !  The  stars  were  very 
secret,  but  the  secret  waited  to  be  told. 

"  I  shall  not  be  able  to  bear  it,"  said  Miranda 
suddenly. 

"  Four  days,"  said  Peter. 

"  But  after  that." 

"  Eight  weeks  at  a  time." 

But  Miranda's  heart  sank  at  the  eternity  of  eight 
weeks. 

Protesting  with  her,  Peter  at  last  said : 

"  I'm  always  with  you,  Miranda." 

She  turned  and  found  he  was  looking  where 
Mirza  glittered  with  its  companion  star.  He  had 
written  her  a  poem  in  which  he  had  likened  Mirza 
to  himself,  eternally  passing  through  heaven  with 
his  tiny  friend. 

Miranda  felt  to-night  how  empty  was  this  fancy. 


44  PETER  PARAGON 

'  You  are  going  away,"  she  said,  "  and  you 

have  never "  She  stopped,  frightened  and 

ashamed.  She  wished  to  run  from  the  place,  and 
she  was  glad  of  the  dark. 

The  feeling  passed,  and  she  lifted  her  head, 
looking  at  Peter.  Her  eyes  were  full  of  challenge 
and  of  fear,  of  confession,  of  reserve  —  the  cour- 
age of  a  maid  —  proud  to  be  as  yet  untouched,  but 
happy  in  surrender. 

"  All  that  I  have  —  and  how  beautiful  it  is !  — 
is  yours,"  was  what  Peter  read. 

The  tears  rushed  into  her  eyes.  They  both 
were  crying  as  Peter  kissed  her.  It  was  the  first 
kiss  of  lovers  two  years  old,  the  first  delicate 
breach  of  their  chastity. 

Miranda  lifted  her  head  upon  Peter's  arm. 

"  I  want  to  be  with  you  always,"  she  said.  "  I 
cannot  bear  you  to  go  away." 

Footsteps  intruded.  Uncle  Henry  had  come, 
God-speeding  his  nephew.  Peter  had  been  missed, 
and  Uncle  Henry  was  coming  to  find  him.  Peter 
felt  as  if  the  world  were  advancing  to  rob  him  of 
something  too  precious  to  be  lawfully  his.  He 
wanted  to  save  Miranda  from  this  intrusion. 

"  Good-bye,  darling!  "  he  whispered. 

She  understood. 

"  Hold  me  near  to  you,  Peter,"  she  said.  They 
kissed  a  second  time,  lingering  on  the  peril  of  dis- 
covery. She  ran  lightly  away  as  Uncle  Henry 
parted  the  bushes  and  thrust  his  great  head  to- 
wards the  seat. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  45 

"  Hullo,  Peter,  my  boy,  is  that  you?  " 

"  Yes,  Uncle." 

u  I  thought  I  would  look  round  to  wish  you 
luck." 

"  Thank  you,  Uncle." 

"  Somebody  did  not  want  to  see  me,"  said 
Uncle  Henry,  crossly  following  Miranda  with  his 
eyes. 

Peter  flashed  an  indignant  look  upon  his  uncle. 
He  could  not  tell  him  why  Miranda  had  gone 
away;  how  she  was  too  precious  to  suffer  the  con- 
tact of  dull  earth. 

They  walked  into  the  house.  For  Peter  the 
rest  of  the  evening  passed  in  a  dream.  He  made 
his  plans  for  an  early  breakfast,  received  the  last 
advice  as  to  his  trains  and  the  disposition  of  his 
money,  and  went  as  soon  as  possible  to  his  bed- 
room under  the  eaves. 


VII 

MIRANDA  was  at  the  window  as  Peter  drove  off 
next  morning  in  a  hansom-cab.  The  sun  was  shin- 
ing, the  earth  green  after  rain.  Peter  was  start- 
ing on  his  first  unaccompanied  journey  in  his  first 
hansom-cab,  and  he  was  unable  to  feel  as  mis- 
erable as  he  should.  Miranda  gave  him  a  smile 
that  struggled  to  be  free  of  sadness  at  losing  him 
for  four  days,  and  of  envy  at  his  adventure.  Peter 
knew  how  she  felt,  and  he  was  angry  with  himself 
for  being  happy. 

The  miles  flew  quickly  by.  Peter  soon  began 
to  wonder  in  pleasant  excitement  what  Oxford  was 
like. 

At  Oxford  station  he  was  immediately  sensible 
of  the  advantages  of  a  town  where  a  great  many 
people  live  only  to  anticipate  the  wishes  of  young 
gentlemen.  In  Hamingburgh  only  people  with 
great  presence  of  mind  can  succeed  in  being  at- 
tended to  by  the  men  who  in  that  independent 
city  put  themselves,  as  cabmen,  porters,  and  shop 
assistants,  into  positions  of  superiority  to  the  pub- 
lic. Peter  was  amazed  at  the  deference  with 
which  his  arrival  upon  the  platform  was  met.  The 
whole  town  seemed  only  anxious  that  he  should 
reach  his  lodgings  as  quickly  and  as  comfortably 
as  possible. 

Peter's  impressions  thereafter  were  fierce  and 
46 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  47 

rapid.  His  four  days  were  a  wonderful  round  of 
visits.  He  perused  the  colleges,  the  gardens,  and 
the  river.  He  called  upon  old  schoolfellows  for 
whom  the  life  of  Oxford  was  already  common- 
place ;  who  had  long  since  forgotten  that  they  were 
living  in  one  of  the  loveliest  of  mediaeval  towns; 
who  blindly  perambulated  the  cloisters,  weighing 
the  issues  of  a  Test  Match.  He  visited  profes- 
sors by  invitation,  and  listened  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life  to  after-dinner  conversation  incredibly  po- 
lite. After  his  papers  were  written  for  the  day, 
he  could  make  a  quiet  meal  and  issue  adventur- 
ously into  the  streets,  eagerly  looking  into  the 
career  at  whose  threshold  he  had  arrived. 

Peter  was  in  a  city  of  illusion.  He  constructed 
the  life,  whose  outward  activities  he  so  curiously 
followed,  from  the  stones  of  Oxford,  and  saw,  as 
it  seemed  to  him,  an  existence  surrendered  to 
lovely  influences  of  culture  and  the  awful  disci- 
pline of  knowledge.  With  reverence  he  encoun- 
tered in  the  quadrangle  of  the  college  whose  hos- 
pitality he  was  seeking,  a  majestic  figure,  silver- 
haired,  of  dreaming  aspect,  passing  gravely  to  his 
pulpit  of  learning.  This  was  that  famous  War- 
den, renowned  in  Europe  as  the  author  of  many 
books  wherein  the  mightiest  found  themselves  cor- 
rected. 

Later  in  the  day  he  enviously  saw  the  inhabit- 
ants of  this  happy  world,  who  in  the  morning  had 
followed  the  Warden  in  to  his  lecture  to  get  wis- 
dom, issue  from  their  rooms  (whose  windows 


48  PETER  PARAGON 

opened  within  rustle  of  the  trees  and  prospect  of  a 
venerable  lawn)  dressed  for  the  field  or  river.  It 
particularly  impressed  Peter  that  in  this  attire  they 
should  take  their  way  unconcerned  through  the 
streets  of  the  town.  No  one  would  have  dared, 
in  Hamingburgh,  to  be  thus  conspicuous.  How 
debonair  and  free  was  life  in  this  heavenly  city ! 

At  evening  Peter  walked  in  the  streets  and 
quadrangles,  getting  precious  glimpses  of  an  in- 
terior studiously  lit,  with  groups,  as  he  fancied 
them,  of  sober  scholars  in  grave  debate  upon  their 
studies  of  the  morning;  or,  perhaps,  in  pleasant 
reminiscence  of  their  games  of  the  afternoon. 
Sometimes  Peter  would  hear  a  burst  of  laughter  or 
see  through  the  panes  of  a  college  window  a  group 
of  men  deep  in  poker  or  bridge.  Peter  then  re- 
membered wild  tales  of  the  license  of  young 
bloods,  and  was  not  displeased.  It  added  a  zest 
to  his  meditations. 

Peter's  last  evening  focussed  his  impressions. 
It  was  the  agreeable  habit  of  the  dons  of  Gamaliel 
College  to  invite  their  candidates  to  dinner  when 
the  trial  was  over.  Peter  accepted  the  invitation 
with  dismay.  !<•  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever 
proposed  to  take  an  evening  meal  by  way  of  din- 
ner; he  was  afraid. 

Nevertheless,  the  reality  was  quite  pleasant. 
His  first  impression  of  the  dons  of  Gamaliel  was 
of  their  kindly  interest  in  himself.  He  seemed  to 
be  specially  selected  for  attention.  The  Warden 
in  his  welcome  looked  perusingly  at  him.  Peter's 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  49 

instinct,  quick  to  feel  an  atmosphere,  warned  him, 
as  they  talked,  that  he  was  being  tactfully  drawn. 
He  noticed  also  the  smiles  that  occasionally  passed 
when  he  plunged  into  some  vigorous  opinion  about 
the  books  he  hated  or  loved.  Insensibly  he  grew 
more  cautious,  and,  as  the  dinner  advanced,  he 
was  amazed  to  hear  himself,  as  though  he  were 
listening  to  someone  else,  saying  things  in  a  new 
way.  Peter  was  beginning  to  acquire  the  Oxford 
manner.  His  old  life  was  receding.  He  caught 
vaguely  at  a  memory  of  Miranda,  but  she  lived 
in  another  world.  Here  he  sat  a  king  of  the 
earth.  A  beautifully  spoken,  white-haired  servant 
at  his  elbow  filled  his  glass  with  golden  wine,  and 
as  he  accepted  regally  of  delicate  meats  from 
dishes  respectfully  offered,  he  heard  himself,  in 
tones  already  grown  strangely  in  tune  with  those 
of  his  companions,  contributing  discreet  opinions. 

Peter,  too,  was  drinking.  He  discovered  how 
easy  it  was  to  talk  at  ease,  to  sparkle,  to  throw 
out,  in  grand  disorder,  the  thronging  visions  of  his 
brain.  Far  from  shrinking  in  diffidence  from  the 
necessity  to  assert  himself -and  to  be  prominent, 
he  began  now  actively  to  intervene. 

Peter  never  remembered  how  first  they  came  to 
talk  of  bees.  But  he  did  not  for  years  forget  the 
dramatic  circumstances  of  this  conversation.  He 
never  lost  the  horror  with  which  he  realised  im- 
mediately after  the  event  that  he  had  contradicted 
the  Reverend  Warden,  and  that  the  whole  table 
was  waiting  for  him  to  make  his  contention  good. 


50  PETER  PARAGON 

"  Well,  Mr.  Paragon,  how  do  you  explain  all 
this?" 

The  room  had  suddenly  become  silent.  All  the 
little  conversations  had  gone  out.  For  the  first 
time  Peter  felt  that  an  audience  was  hanging  upon 
him.  He  flushed,  set  his  teeth,  and  talked.  He 
talked  with  enthusiasm,  tempered  instinctively 
with  the  Oxford  manner.  His  enthusiasm  de- 
lighted the  dons  of  Gamaliel,  to  whom  it  was  very 
strange,  and  his  experience  interested  them.  Peter 
loved  his  bees  and  handled  them  well.  When  he 
had  ended  his  account,  all  kinds  of  questions  were 
asked.  More  than  ever  he  felt  elated  and  sure  of 
himself.  He  emptied  yet  another  glass  of  the 
golden  wine. 

"  I'm  becoming  quite  brilliant,"  he  thought. 

Then  he  saw  that  the  Warden  was  speaking  into 
an  ear  of  the  white-haired  servant,  glancing  with 
ever  so  slight  a  gesture  at  Peter's  empty  glass. 
This  time  the  servant  in  passing  round  the  table 
omitted  Peter. 

Peter  was  quick  to  understand.  He  arrested 
himself  in  the  act  of  saying  something  foolish. 
Clearly  the  wine  had  gone  into  his  head.  He 
wondered  whether  he  would  be  able  to  stand  up 
when  the  time  came.  He  sank  suddenly  into  him- 
self, answering  when  he  was  appealed  to  directly, 
but  otherwise  content  to  watch  the  table.  He 
thought  with  remorse  of  Miranda,  almost  forgot- 
ten amid  the  excitement  of  these  last  days.  He 
saw  again  the  garden  as  it  looked  on  the  evening 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  51 

of  his  farewell.  He  wanted  to  be  away  from 
these  strange  people,  from  the  raftered  hall,  the 
table  soft-lit,  beautiful  with  silver  and  glass.  The 
voices  went  far-off.  Only  when  his  neighbour 
touched  him  on  the  shoulder  did  he  notice  that  his 
companions  were  moving. 

The  Warden  bade  him  a  cordial  good-bye.  He 
smiled  at  Peter  in  a  way  that  made  his  heart  leap 
with  a  conviction  that  he  had  been  successful. 

"  I  wonder,"  Peter  said  to  himself  as  he  walked 
back  to  his  rooms  — "  I  wonder  if  I  am  really 
drunk?"  He  had  never  felt  before  quite  as  he 
did  to-night.  Now  that  he  was  in  the  open,  he 
wanted  to  leap  and  to  sing. 

The  municipal  band  was  playing  as  he  turned 
into  the  street.  Round  it  were  gathered  in  prom- 
enade an  idle  crowd  of  young  shopkeepers, 
coupled,  or  desirous  of  being  coupled,  with  girls 
of  the  town. 

Peter  noticed  a  handsome  young  woman  at  the 
edge  of  the  crowd,  hanging  upon  the  arm  of  a 
young  man.  She  was  closely  observing  him  as  he 
came  up.  It  seemed  to  Peter  that  she  mischiev- 
ously challenged  him.  Her  companion  was  star- 
ing vacantly  at  the  bandsmen.  Peter  paused  irres- 
olutely, flushed  a  burning  red,  and  passed  hastily 
away. 

He  was  astonished  and  humiliated  at  his  physi- 
cal commotion.  The  music  sounded  hatefully  the 
three-four  rhythm  of  surrender.  He  was  yet  able 
to  hear  it  as  he  stood  under  the  window  of  his 


52  PETER  PARAGON 

room.  He  saw  again  the  enigmatic  eyes  of  the 
girl,  the  faint  welcome  of  her  smile,  so  slight  as  to 
be  no  more  than  a  shadow,  the  coquettish  recoil 
of  her  shoulders  as  he  paused. 

He  turned  into  his  lodgings,  and  ten  o'clock 
began  to  strike  on  the  Oxford  bells.  He  waited 
for  several  minutes  till  the  last  had  sounded.  Ox- 
ford, for  Peter,  was  to  the  end  a  city  of  bells.  He 
never  lost  the  impression  of  his  first  night  as  he 
lay,  too  excited  for  sleep,  his  thoughts  interrupted 
with  the  hours  as  they  sounded,  high  and  low,  till 
the  last  straggler  had  ended.  It  always  pro- 
foundly affected  him,  this  converse  at  night  be- 
tween turret  and  turret  of  the  sleeping  stones. 
It  came  at  last  to  emphasize  his  impression  of  Ox- 
ford as  a  place  whose  actual  and  permanent  life 
was  in  the  walls  and  trees,  whose  men  were  shad- 
ows. 

To-night  the  bells  invited  Peter  to  look  into  the 
greater  life  he  expected  to  lead  in  this  place.  The 
scattered  glimpses  of  a  beautiful  world  at  whose 
threshold  he  stood  were  now  united  in  a  hope  that 
soon  he  would  permanently  share  it  within  call  of 
the  hours  as  melodiously  in  this  grey  city  they 
passed. 

The  fumes  of  the  evening  were  blown  away;  the 
band  in  the  street  was  no  longer  heard.  Peter, 
awake  in  bed,  heard  yet  another  striking  of  the 
hour.  He  was  looking  back  to  his  last  evening 
with  Miranda.  How  did  she  come  into  this  new 
life?  He  thought  of  her  sleeping,  parted  by  a 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  53 

wall's  breadth  from  his  empty  room  at  home,  and 
was  invaded  with  a  desire  to  be  near  her  greater 
than  his  envy  of  anything  that  sounded  in  the 
striking  bells. 

"  Miranda."  He  repeated  the  syllables  to  him- 
self as  the  bells  were  striking,  and  fell  asleep  upon 
her  name. 


VIII 

PETER,  home  after  his  first  important  absence, 
found  that  his  former  life  had  shrunk.  He  had 
seen  things  on  a  generous  scale.  Only  for  four 
days  had  he  been  away,  but  it  was  an  epoch. 

He  went  immediately  to  find  Miranda,  trem- 
bling with  impatience.  But  he  was  struck  shy 
when  they  met.  Peter  had  imagined  this  meeting 
as  a  perfect  renewal  of  their  last  moments  to- 
gether. He  had  seen  himself  thrilling  into  a  pas- 
sionate welcome,  taking  up  his  life  with  Miranda 
where  it  had  abruptly  ceased  with  the  arrival  of 
Uncle  Henry  four  days  ago.  But  at  sight  of  her 
the  current  of  his  eagerness  was  checked.  It  was 
that  curious  moment  of  lovers  who  have  lived 
through  so  many  meetings  in  imagination  that  the 
actual  moment  cannot  be  fulfilled. 

"  You're  back,"  she  said  awkwardly,  hardly  able 
to  look  at  him. 

"  I've  just  this  moment  come."  Peter  thought 
it  was  the  staring  daylight  that  put  this  con- 
straint upon  them.  Then  he  saw  in  his  fancy  the 
welcome  he  had  expected  —  very  different  from 
this  —  and,  as  though  he  were  acting  something 
many  times  rehearsed,  he  .kissed  Miranda  with  an 
intended  joy. 

Miranda's  constraint  was  now  broken. 

54 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  55 

"  I  have  missed  you  dreadfully,"  she  whispered. 

She  held  him  tight,  urged  by  the  piteous  mem- 
ory of  four  empty  days;  and  Peter,  rising  at  her 
passion,  strained  her  truthfully  towards  him.  The 
disillusion  of  meeting  fell  away  from  them  both. 

Soon  he  was  talking  to  her  of  Oxford,  and  the 
great  life  he  had  shared.  He  did  not  realise  that 
a  strain  of  arrogant  enthusiasm  came  into  his  tale 
—  a  suggestion  that  in  these  last  four  days  he  had 
flapped  the  wings  of  his  ambition  in  high  air  and 
dazzling  sunshine.  Miranda  was  chilled,  feeling 
she  had  been  in  the  cold,  divining  that  Peter  had  a 
little  grown  away  from  her  in  the  things  he  re- 
counted with  such  unnecessary  joy.  At  last  she 
interrupted  him. 

'  You  haven't  missed  me,  Peter." 

"  But  I  have,"  answered  Peter,  passing  in  a 
breath  to  tell  of  his  encounter  with  the  dons  of 
Gamaliel.  Miranda  put  her  hand  into  his,  but 
Peter,  graphically  intent  upon  his  tale,  insensibly 
removed  it  for  a  necessary  gesture. 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear,"  said  Miranda  sud- 
denly. 

She  slipped  from  where'  they  sat,  and,  killing 
him  with  her  eyes,  walked  abruptly  away. 

Peter  was  struck  into  dismay.  Remorse  for  his 
selfish  intentness  upon  glories  Miranda  had  not 
shared  shot  him  through.  But  he  stayed  where 
she  had  left  him,  sullenly  resentful.  She  need  not 
have  been  so  violent.  How  ugly  was  her  voice 
when  she  told  him  she  did  not  want  to  hear. 


5<5  PETER  PARAGON 

Peter  noticed  in  her  swinging  dress  a  patched  rent, 
and  her  dusty  shoes  down  at  the  heel.  Spitefully 
he  called  into  his  mind,  for  contrast  and  to  support 
him  in  his  resentment,  the  quiet  and  ordered 
beauty  of  the  life  he  had  just  seen.  He  retired 
with  dignity  to  the  house,  and  made  miserable 
efforts  to  forget  that  Miranda  was  estranged. 

Mrs.  Paragon  wanted  to  hear  all  that  Peter  had 
seen  and  done.  Peter  told  again  his  tale  without 
enthusiasm.  Then  his  father  also  must  hear. 
Peter  talked  of  Oxford,  wondering,  as  he  talked, 
where  Miranda  had  gone,  and  whether  she  would 
forgive  him  even  if  he  admitted  he  was  to  blame. 
His  experiences  now  had  lost  all  their  charm.  He 
had  taken  a  vain  pleasure  in  glorifying  them  to 
Miranda,  but  the  glory  now  was  spoiled. 

Mr.  Paragon  was  delighted  to  hear  Peter  de- 
scribing his  first  serious  introduction  to  polite  com- 
pany without  seeming  violently  pleased.  Clearly 
Oxford  was  not  going  to  corrupt  him.  Peter 
spoke  almost  with  distaste  of  his  fine  friends. 

"  Well,  my  boy,"  said  Mr.  Paragon,  "  you  don't 
seem  to  think  much  of  this  high  living." 

"  It's  all  right,  father,"  answered  Peter,  ab- 
sently dwelling  on  Miranda. 

"What  did  you  talk  about?  Mostly  trash,  I 
suppose?  " 

"  Yes,  father."  Peter  was  now  at  Miranda's 
feet,  asking  her  to  forgive  him. 

A  little  later  Mr.  Smith  came  in,  and  the  time 
passed  heavily  away.  Mr.  Smith  was  trying  to 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  57 

dissuade  Mr.  Paragon  from  taking  part  in  an 
angry  demonstration  of  railway  men  who  had 
struck  work  in  the  previous  week.  Already  there 
had  been  rioting.  To-night  Mr.  Paragon  was  to 
address  a  meeting  in  the  open  air,  and  his  talk 
was  loud  and  bitter.  Peter  heard  all  this  rhetoric 
with  faint  disgust.  He  was  at  that  time  in  all 
things  his  father's  disciple.  But  to-night  his  brain 
was  dancing  between  a  proud  girl,  with  eyes  that 
hurt,  swinging  away  from  him  in  her  patched 
frock  and  dusty  shoes,  and  a  long,  low-lit  table 
elegant  with  silver  and  glass.  He  could  not  listen 
to  these  foolish  men;  and  when  Mr.  Smith  had 
reached  the  summit  of  his  theme  in  a  call  to 
"  shoot  them  down,"  and  when  his  father  was 
clearly  making  ready  utterly  to  destroy  his  enemy, 
Peter  went  impatiently  from  the  room. 

Mrs.  Paragon  made  ready  her  husband  for  the 
meeting  without  regarding  Mr.  Smith's  gloomy 
fears  of  disorder  and  riot.  It  had  always  been 
Mr.  Paragon's  amusement  to  speak  in  public,  and 
she  had  decided  that  politics  could  have  no  serious 
results.  For  a  few  minutes  she  watched  him  di- 
minish up  the  long  street,  and  then  returned  to 
the  kitchen  where  Mr.  Smith,  balancing  on  his 
toes,  talked  still  of  the  dark  necessities  of  blood 
and  iron. 

Two  hours  later  Peter's  father  was  brought 
home  dead,  with  a  bullet  in  his  brain. 


IX 

PETER  sat  stonily  where  Miranda  left  him  earlier 
in  the  day.  It  was  now  quite  dark,  the  evening 
primrose  shining  in  tall  clusters,  very  pale,  within 
reach  of  his  hand.  Since  a  cab  had  jingled  into 
hearing,  stopped  beside  the  house,  and  jingled 
away,  hardly  a  sound  had  broken  into  his  thoughts. 
Each  rustle  of  the  trees  or  lightest  noise  of  the 
garden  raised  in  him  a  riot  of  excitement;  for  he 
felt  that  Miranda  would  come,  and  he  lived  mo- 
ment by  moment  intensely  waiting.  He  was  sure 
she  would  not  be  able  to  sleep  without  making  her 
peace. 

Several  times  he  moaned  softly,  and  asked  for 
her  aloud.  Once  he  was  filled  with  bitterest 
anger,  and  started  to  go  back  into  the  house.  He 
hated  her.  His  brilliant  future  should  not  be 
linked  with  this  rude  and  shabby  girl.  Then,  in 
sharp  remorse,  he  asked  to  be  forgiven.  Tears 
of  self-pity  had  followed  tears  of  anger  and  tears 
of  utter  pain,  and  had  dried  on  his  cheeks  as  he 
rigidly  kept  one  posture  on  the  narrow  bench. 
He  felt  to-night  that  he  had  the  power  to  experi- 
ence and  to  utter  all  the  sorrow  of  the  world,  and 
mixed  with  his  pain  there  were  sensations  of  the 
keenest  luxury. 

At  last  a  footstep  sounded.  He  began  to  trem- 
58 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  59 

ble  unendurably;  but  in  the  next  instant  he  knew 
it  was  not  Miranda.  He  had  not  recovered  from 
his  disappointment  when  his  mother  stood  beside 
him. 

He  looked  at  her  vaguely,  not  yet  recalled  from 
his  raging  thoughts.  She  called  his  name,  and 
there  was  something  in  her  voice  that  startled 
him.  The  moon  which  was  now  coming  over  the 
house  poured  its  light  upon  her  face.  Swiftly 
Peter  was  aware  of  some  terrible  thing  struggling 
for  expression.  His  mother's  eyes  were  clouded 
as  though  she  was  dazed  from  the  effect  of 
some  hard  and  sudden  blow.  Her  lips  were 
drawn  tight  as  though  she  suffered.  She  stood 
for  a  moment,  and  once  or  twice  just  failed  to 
speak. 

"  Peter,"  she  said  at  last,  "  I  have  to  tell  you 
something." 

Peter  stared  at  her,  quickly  beginning  to  fear. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  dear  boy."  Peter  saw 
the  first  tears  gather  and  fall. 

"  Mother,  you  are  hurt." 

Her  tears  now  fell  rapidly  as  she  stooped  and 
strained  Peter  towards  her.  She  could  not  bear  to 
see  his  face  as  she  told  him. 

"  Something  terrible  has  happened.  There  has 
been  a  fight  in  the  streets  and  father " 

Her  arms  tightened  about  him.  Peter  knew 
his  father  was  dead. 

"  We  are  alone,  Peter,"  she  said  at  last. 

Then  she  rose,  and  there  were  no  more  tears. 


60  PETER  PARAGON 

Erect  in  the  moonlight,  she  seemed  the  statue  of 
a  mourning  woman. 

"  He  is  lying  in  our  room,  Peter.  Won't  you 
come  ?  " 

Peter  instinctively  shuddered  away.  Then, 
feeling  as  though  a  weight  had  just  been  laid  on 
him,  he  asked: 

"  Can  I  help  you,  mother?  Is  there  anything 
to  do?" 

"  Uncle  Henry  is  here.     Come  when  you  can." 

Peter  watched  her  move  away  towards  the 
house.  Self  died  outright  in  him  as,  filled  with 
worship,  he  saw  her,  grave  and  beautiful,  going  to 
the  dead  man. 

Soon  he  wondered  why,  now  that  trouble  had 
really  come,  he  could  not  so  easily  be  moved.  The 
tears,  which  so  readily  had  started  from  his  eyes 
as  he  had  brooded  on  his  quarrel  with  Miranda, 
would  not  flow  now  for  his  father.  His  imagina- 
tion could  not  at  once  accept  reality.  He  sat  as 
his  mother  had  left  him,  sensible  of  a  gradual  ache 
that  stole  into  his  brain.  Time  passed;  and,  at 
last,  as  the  ache  became  intolerable,  he  heard  him- 
self desperately  repeating  to  himself  the  sylla- 
bles: 

"  Never,  Never." 

He  would  never  again  see  his  father.  Then  his 
brain  at  last  awoke  in  a  vision  of  his  father,  an 
hour  ago  or  so,  confronting  Mr.  Smith.  Peter's 
emotion  first  sprang  alive  in  a  sharp  remorse.  He 
had  that  evening  found  his  father  insufferable. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  61 

Peter  could  no  longer  sit.  He  walked  rapidly 
up  and  down  the  garden,  giving  rein  to  self-tor- 
ment. He  had  always  thought  of  his  father,  and 
now  remembered  him  most  vividly,  as  one  who  had 
read  with  him  the  books  which  first  had  opened 
his  mind.  His  father  shone  now  upon  Peter 
crowned  with  all  the  hard,  bright  literature  of  re- 
volt. 

A  harsh  cry  suddenly  broke  up  the  silence  of 
the  garden.  A  newsboy  ran  shrieking  a  special 
edition,  with  headlines  of  riot  and  someone  killed. 

The  cry  struck  Peter  motionless.  He  had  re- 
alised so  far  that  his  father  was  dead.  Now  he 
remembered  the  riot.  The  newsboy  had  shouted 
of  a  charge  of  soldiers. 

Why  had  Peter  not  accepted  his  father's  gospel? 
Why  had  he  not  stood  that  evening  by  his  father's 
side?  The  enemies  of  whom  his  father  had  so 
often  talked  to  Peter  were  real,  and  had  struck  him 
down.  All  the  idle  rhetoric  that  had  slept  unre- 
garded in  Peter's  brain  now  rang  like  a  challenge 
of  trumpets.  He  saw  his  father  as  one  who  had 
tried  to  teach  him  a  brave  gospel  of  freedom,  who 
had  resisted  tyranny,  and  died  for  his  faith. 

Peter  cursed  the  oppressor  with  clenched  hands. 
In  the  tumble  of  his  thoughts  there  intruded  pic- 
tures, quite  unconnected,  of  the  life  he  had  known 
at  his  first  school  —  encounters  with  the  friendly 
roughs,  their  common  hatred  of  the  police,  the 
comfortable,  oily  embrace  of  the  woman  who  had 
picked  him  from  the  snow.  He  felt  now  that  he 


62  PETER  PARAGON 

was  one  of  these  struggling  people,  that  he  ought 
that  night  to  have  stood  with  his  father.  In  con- 
trast with  the  warm  years  in  which  he  had  gloried 
in  the  life  of  his  humbler  school  his  later  com- 
parative solitude  coldly  emphasized  his  kinship 
with  the  dispossessed. 

Scarcely  twenty-four  hours  ago  Peter  had 
feasted  with  the  luxurious  enemies  of  the  poor. 
He  had  come  from  them,  vainglorious  and  eager 
to  claim  their  fellowship.  For  this  he  had  been 
terribly  punished.  Peter  felt  the  hand  of  God  in 
all  this.  It  seemed  like  destiny's  reward  for  dis- 
loyalty to  all  his  father  had  taught. 

He  went  into  the  house,  and  soon  was  looking 
at  the  dead  man.  His  mother  moved  about  the 
room,  obeying  her  instinct  to  put  all  into  keeping 
with  the  cold  severity  of  that  still  figure.  Peter 
looked  and  went  rapidly  away.  He  felt  no  tie  of 
blood  or  affection.  He  was  looking  at  death  — 
at  something  immensely  distant. 

Nevertheless,  as  he  went  from  the  oppressive 
house,  this  chill  vision  of  death  consecrated  in  his 
fancy  the  figure,  legendary  now,  of  a  martyred 
prophet  of  revolt.  By  comparison  he  hardly  felt 
his  personal  loss  of  a  father. 

As  he  passed  into  the  garden,  he  saw  into  the 
brilliantly  lighted  room  next  door.  Mr.  Smith 
sprawled  with  his  head  on  the  table,  sobbing  like 
a  child.  Peter,  in  a  flash,  remembered  him  as  he 
had  stood  not  two  hours  ago  beside  his  father, 
shrilly  repeating  an  hortation  to  shoot  them  down. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  63 

In  that  moment  Peter  had  his  first  glimpse  of  the 
irony  of  life.  He  felt  impulsively  that  he  ought 
to  comfort  that  foolish  bowed  figure  whose  babble 
had  been  so  rudely  answered. 

Then,  as  Mr.  Smith  was  seen  to  wipe  his  watery 
eyes  with  a  spotted  handkerchief,  Peter  grew  im- 
patient under  that  sting  of  absurdity  which  in  life 
pricks  the  holiest  sorrow.  He  turned  sharply 
away,  and  in  the  path  he  saw  Miranda. 

She  put  out  her  arm  with  a  blind  gesture  to 
check  the  momentum  of  his  recoil  from  the  lighted 
window.  He  caught  at  her  hand,  but  his  fingers 
closed  upon  the  rough  serge  of  her  sleeve.  His 
passion  leaped  instantly  to  a  climax.  It  was  one 
of  those  rare  moments  when  feeling  must  find  pic- 
tured expression;  when  every  barrier  is  down  be- 
tween emotion  and  its  gesture.  Miranda  stood 
before  him,  the  reproach  of  his  disloyalty,  a  per- 
fect figure  of  the  life  he  must  embrace.  His  hand 
upon  her  dress  shot  instantly  into  his  brain  a  mem- 
ory of  that  mean  moment  when  he  had  nursed 
his  wrongs  upon  her  homeliness.  A  fierce  con- 
trition flung  him  without, pose  or  premeditation 
on  his  knees  beside  her.  As  she  leaned  in  wonder 
towards  him,  he  caught  the  fringe  of  her  frayed 
skirt  in  his  hands,  and,  in  a  moment  of  supreme 
dedication,  kissed  it  in  a  passion  of  worship. 


X 

THE  interim  between  the  death  of  Peter's  father 
and  Peter's  ascent  into  Oxford  was  filled  with 
small  events  which  impertinently  buzzed  about 
him.  Even  his  father's  funeral  left  no  deep  im- 
pression. It  was  formal  and  necessary.  Peter 
was  haunted,  as  the  ceremony  dragged  on,  with  a 
reproachful  sense  that  he  was  not,  as  he  should, 
responding  to  its  solemnity.  Passion,  of  love  or 
grief  or  adoration,  came  to  Peter  by  inspiration. 
He  could  not  punctually  answer.  He  marvelled 
how  easily  at  the  graveside  the  tears  of  his  friends 
and  neighbours  were  able  to  flow.  He  himself 
had  buried  his  father  upon  the  night  of  his  father's 
death,  and  had  started  life  anew.  The  funeral 
was  for  him  no  more  than  the  ghost  of  a  dead 
event. 

Next  came  the  removal  of  Mrs.  Paragon  into 
the  well-appointed  house  of  Uncle  Henry.  Henry 
had  arranged  that  henceforth  his  sister  should  live 
with  him;  that  Peter  should  look  to  him  as  a 
guardian,  and  think  of  himself  as  his  uncle's  in- 
heritor. All  these  new  arrangements  passed  high 
over  Peter's  head.  They  were  a  background  of 
rumour  and  confusion  to  days  of  exquisite  sensi- 
bility and  peace.  Only  one  thing  really  mattered. 
Uncle  Henry's  house  was  in  the  fashionable  road 
that  ran  parallel  to  that  in  which  Peter  was  born, 

64 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  65 

so  that  Peter  could  reach  Miranda  by  way  of  the 
garden,  which  met  hers  at  the  wall's  end. 

Adolescence  carried  him  high  and  far,  winging 
his  fancy,  giving  to  the  world  forms  and  colours 
he  had  never  yet  perceived.  His  passion,  unaware 
of  its  physical  texture,  had  almost  disembodied 
him.  Miranda  focussed  the  rays  of  his  soul,  and 
drew  his  energy  to  a  point.  He  was  pure  air  and 
fire.  Standing  on  the  high  balcony  of  his  new 
room,  he  felt  that,  were  he  to  leap  down,  he  must 
float  like  gossamer.  Or,  as  he  lay  in  the  grass 
beside  Miranda,  staring  almost  into  the  eye  of  the 
sun,  he  acknowledged  a  kinship  with  the  passing 
birds,  imagined  that  he  heard  the  sap  of  the  green 
world  ebb  and  flow;  or,  pressing  his  cheeks  to 
the  cool  earth,  he  would  seem  to  feel  it  spinning 
enormously  through  space. 

They  talked  hardly  at  all,  and  then  it  was  of 
some  small  intrusion  into  their  happy  silence  — 
the  chatter  of  a  bird  in  distress  or  the  ragged 
flying  of  a  painted  moth.  Only  seldom  did  Peter 
turn  to  assure  himself  that  Miranda  was  still  be- 
side him.  He  was  absorbed  with  his  own  vast 
content  and  gratitude  for  the  warm  and  lovely 
world,  his  precious  agony  of  aspiration  towards 
the  inexpressible,  his  sense  of  immense,  unmeas- 
ured power.  Miranda  was  his  precious  symbol. 
Uttered  in  her,  for  his  intimate  contemplation,  he 
spelled  the  message  with  which  the  air  was  bur- 
dened, which  shivered  on  the  vibrating  leaves,  and 
burned  in  the  summer  heat.  When,  after  long 


66  PETER  PARAGON 

gazing  into  blue  distances  of  air,  he  turned  to  find 
Miranda,  it  seemed  that  the  blue  had  broken  and 
yielded  its  secret. 

From  the  balcony  of  his  room  at  night  he  saw 
things  so  lovely  that  he  stood  for  long  moments 
still,  as  though  he  listened.  The  trees,  massed 
solemnly  together,  waited  sentiently  to  be  stirred. 
The  stars  drew  him  into  the  deep.  Voices  broke 
from  the  street.  Light  shining  from  far  windows, 
and  the  smoke  of  chimneys  fantastically  grouped, 
filled  him  with  a  sense  of  pulsing,  intimate  life; 
a  world  of  energy  whose  stillness  was  the  measure 
of  its  power,  the  slumber  of  a  bee's  wing. 

One  of  the  far  lighted  windows  belonged  to 
Miranda.  He  was  content  to  know  she  was  there, 
and  recalled,  clear  in  his  mind's  eye,  the  lines  and 
gestures  of  her  face.  The  beauty  he  saw  there 
had  seemed  almost  to  break  his  heart.  It  wav- 
ered upon  him  alternate  with  the  stars  and  the 
dark  trees  of  the  garden.  Loveliness  and  a  per- 
petual riddle  delicately  lurked  in  the  corners  of  her 
mouth.  Sometimes,  when  they  were  together,  he 
would  lay  his  finger  very  softly  on  Miranda's  lips. 

He  rarely  kissed  her.  The  flutter  of  his  pulse 
died  under  an  ecstasy  bodiless  as  his  passion  for 
the  painted  sky.  He  did  not  yet  love  the  girl 
who  sometimes  with  a  curious  ferocity  flung  her 
arms  about  him  and  crushed  his  face  against  her 
shabby  dress.  Rather  he  loved  the  beauty  of  the 
world  and  his  inspired  ability,  through  her,  to  em- 
brace it. 


XI 

THE  time  had  now  come  for  Peter  to  be  removed 
to  Oxford.  Amid  all  the  novelty,  the  unimagined 
comfort  and  dignity,  the  beginning  of  new  and 
exciting  friendships,  the  first  encounter  with  men 
of  learning  and  position,  Peter  kept  always  a  re- 
gion of  himself  apart,  whither  he  retired  to  dream 
of  Miranda.  He  wrote  her  long  and  impassioned 
letters,  pouring  forth  a  flood  of  impetuous  imagery 
wherein  her  kinship  with  all  intense  and  lovely 
things  persisted  in  a  thousand  shapes.  But  gradu- 
ally, under  many  influences,  a  change  prepared. 

First,  there  was  his  contact  with  the  intellectual 
life  of  Gamaliel.  His  inquisitive  idealism  gradu- 
ally came  down  from  heaven,  summoned  to  defi- 
nite earth  by  the  ordered  wisdom  of  Oxford.  He 
had  lately  striven  to  catch,  in  a  net  of  words, 
inexpressible  beauty  and  elusive  thought.  But  his 
desire  to  push  expression  to  the  limit  of  the  com- 
prehensible; his  gift  of  nervous,  pictorial  speech; 
the  crowding  truths,  half  seen,  that  filled  his  brain 
were  now  opposed  and  estimated  according  to  sure 
knowledge  and  the  standards  which  measure  a  suc- 
cessful examinee.  Truth,  for  ever  about  to  show 
her  face,  at  whose  unsubstantial  robe  Peter  had 
sometimes  caught,  now  appeared  formal,  severe, 
gowned,  and  reading  a  schedule.  All  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  world,  it  seemed,  had  been  reduced  to 

67 


68  PETER  PARAGON 

categories.  Style  was  something  that  dead  authors 
had  once  achieved.  It  could  be  ranged  in  periods 
and  schools,  some  of  which  might  with  advantage 
be  imitated.  Peter  found  that  concerning  all 
things  there  were  points  of  view.  An  acquaint- 
ance with  these  points  of  view  and  an  ability  rap- 
idly to  number  them  was  almost  the  only  kind  of 
excellence  his  masters  were  able  to  reward. 

The  result  of  Peter's  contact  with  the  tidy,  well- 
appointed  wisdom  of  Gamaliel  was  disastrous. 
His  imagination,  starting  adventurously  into  the 
unknown,  was  systematically  checked.  This  or 
that  question  he  was  asking  of  the  Sphinx  was  al- 
ready answered.  He  fell  from  heaven  upon  a 
passage  of  Hegel  or  a  theory  of  Westermarck. 

Peter  quickened  his  disillusion  by  the  energy 
and  zeal  of  his  reading.  He  threw  himself  hun- 
grily upon  his  books,  and  gloried  in  the  ease  with 
which  wisdom  could  be  won  and  stored  for  refer- 
ence. His  ardour  for  conquest,  by  map  and  ruler, 
of  the  kingdoms  of  knowledge  lasted  well  through 
his  first  term.  Only  obscurely  was  he  conscious  of 
clipped  wings. 

Hard  physical  exercise  also  played  a  part  in 
bringing  Peter  to  the  ground.  He  was  put  into 
training  for  the  river,  and  was  soon  filled  with  a 
keen  interest  in  his  splendid  thews.  Stretched 
at  length  in  the  evening,  warm  with  triumphant 
mastery  of  some  theorem  concerning  the  Absolute 
First  Cause,  Peter  saw  himself  as  typically  a  live 
intellectual  animal.  Less  and  less  did  he  live  irt 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  69 

outer  space.  He  began  athletically  to  tread  the 
earth. 

Then,  too,  Peter  made  many  friends  —  friends 
who  in  some  ways  were  older  than  he.  He 
thought  of  Miranda  as  an  elfin  girl,  but  his  friends 
talked  of  women  in  a  way  Peter  had  never  heard. 
For  Peter  sex  had  been  one  of  the  things  which 
he  seemed  always  to  have  known.  It  had  not 
insistently  troubled  him.  He  now  encountered  it 
in  the  conversation  of  his  friends  as  something 
stealthily  comic,  perturbing  and  curiously  attrac- 
tive. He  did  not  actively  join  in  these  conversa- 
tions, but  they  affected  him. 

The  week  slid  away,  and  term  was  virtually  at 
an  end.  Peter  sat  alone  in  his  room  with  Mi- 
randa's last  letter.  In  his  ears  the  rhythm  of  oars 
and  the  hum  of  cold  wet  air  yet  remained,  drown- 
ing the  small  noises  of  the  fire.  Miranda's  letter 
was  bitterly  reproachful  —  glowing  at  the  top 
heat  of  a  lovers'  quarrel.  Miranda  felt  Peter's 
absence  more  than  he  could  do.  She  now  had 
nothing  but  Peter,  and  already  she  was  a  woman. 
Unconsciously  she  resented  Peter's  imaginative 
ecstasies.  She  wanted  him  to  hold  and  to  see. 
When  he  answered  her  from  the  clouds  she  was 
desolate.  Moreover,  Peter  wrote  much  of  his 
work  and  play;  and  Miranda,  afraid  and  jealous 
of  the  life  he  was  leading  in  Oxford,  was  tinder 
for  the  least  spark  of  difference. 

The  letter  Peter  held  in  his  hand  was  all 
wounded  passion.  He  could  see  her  tears  and  the 


70  PETER  PARAGON 

droop  of  her  mouth  trembling  with  anger.  He 
had  neglected  a  request  she  had  made.  He  had 
written  instead  a  description  of  the  boat  he  had 
helped  to  victory.  Something  in  Miranda's  letter 
—  something  he  had  not  felt  before  —  caught 
suddenly  at  a  need  in  him  as  yet  unknown.  He 
realised  all  at  once  that  he  wanted  her  to  be  physi- 
cally there.  He  read  again  her  burning  phrases 
and  felt  the  call  to  him  of  her  thwarted  hunger  — 
felt  it  clearly  beneath  her  superficial  estrangement 
and  reproach.  He  flung  himself  desperately  back 
into  his  chair  and  remained  for  a  moment  still. 
Then  he  sprang  up  and  wandered  restlessly  in  the 
dim  room,  at  last  pausing  by  the  mantelpiece  and 
turning  the  lamp  upon  her  photograph.  It  had 
caught  the  full,  enigmatic  curve  of  her  mouth, 
breaking  into  her  familiar  sad  smile.  Peter  was 
abruptly  invaded  with  a  secret  wish,  his  blood 
singing  in  his  ears,  his  heart  throbbing  painfully, 
a  longing  to  make  his  peace  possessing  him.  He 
felt  curiously  weak  —  almost  as  if  he  might  fall. 
The  room  was  twisting  under  his  eyes.  He  flexed 
his  muscles  and  closed  his  eyes  in  pain.  Then,  in 
deep  relief,  he,  in  fancy,  bent  forward  and  kissed 
her. 

He  decided  to  plead  with  her  face  to  face,  and 
he  let  pass  the  intervening  day  in  a  luxury  of  an- 
ticipation. He  dwelled,  as  he  had  not  before, 
on  her  physical  grace.  He  would  sweep  away  all 
her  sorrow  in  passionate  words  uttered  upon  her 
lips. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  71 

He  reached  his  uncle's  house  by  an  earlier  train 
than  was  expected.  His  mother  was  not  at  home, 
and  he  went  to  his  room  unchallenged.  Out  on 
the  balcony  the  wind  roared  to  him  through  the 
bare  trees.  It  was  warm  for  a  December  evening, 
and  very  dark.  He  looked  towards  Miranda's 
house  —  a  darker  spot  on  the  dark ;  for  there  was 
no  light  in  the  windows.  It  thrilled  him  to  see 
how  dark  it  was;  and  as  he  went  through  the 
garden  towards  her,  with  the  wind  about  him  like 
a  cloak,  dr.awn  close  and  impeding  him,  he  was 
glad  of  the  freedom  and  secrecy  it  seemed  to 
promise.  He  could  call  aloud  in  that  dark  wind, 
and  his  words  were  snatched  away.  His  lips  and 
face  were  trembling,  but  it  did  not  matter,  for  the 
darkness  covered  them. 

At  last  he  stood  by  the  house.  The  door  was 
half-open.  His  fancy  leaped  at  Miranda  waiting 
for  him.  He  had  only  to  enter,  and  he  pressed  in 
her  comfortable  arms. 

He  pushed  open  the  door,  and  a  hollow  echo  ran 
into  many  rooms  and  died  away  upstairs.  He  was 
sensible  now,  in  shelter  from  the  wind,  of  a  still- 
ness he  had  never  known.  It  shot  into  him  a  quick 
terror.  As  he  stood  and  listened,  he  could  hear 
water  dripping  into  a  cistern  somewhere  in  the 
roof.  The  door  was  blown  violently  shut,  and  the 
report  echoed  as  in  a  cavern.  The  house  was 
empty. 

Peter  lighted  a  match,  and  held  it  above  his 
head.  He  saw  that  the  linoleum  had  been  torn 


72  PETER  PARAGON 

from  the  floor;  that  the  kitchen  was  empty  of 
furniture;  that  the  dust  and  rubbish  of  removal 
lay  in  the  four  corners.  The  match  burnt  his  fin- 
gers and  went  out.  Every  sensation  died  in  Peter. 
He  stood  in  the  darkness,  hearing  small  noises  of 
water,  the  light  patter  of  soot  dislodged  from 
the  chimney,  the  creak  and  rustle  of  a  house  de- 
serted. 

When  his  eyes  were  used  to  the  dark,  he  moved 
towards  a  glimmer  from  the  hall-door.  He  could 
not  yet  believe  what  he  saw.  He  expected  the 
silence  of  his  dream  to  break.  Mechanically  he 
went  through  the  house,  standing  at  last  under  the 
eaves  of  Miranda's  attic-room.  His  eyes,  strain- 
ing to  the  far  corner,  traced  the  white  outline  of 
the  sloping  ceiling.  He  stood  where  Miranda  had 
so  often  slept,  a  wall's  breadth  from  himself. 

The  water  dripped  pitilessly  in  the  roof,  and 
Peter,  poor  model  of  an  English  boy,  lay  in  grief, 
utterly  abandoned,  his  clenched  hands  beating  the 
naked  floor. 


XII 

THERE  was  a  veiled  expression  in  Peter's  eyes  that 
evening  when  he  met  his  mother.  Passion  was 
exhausted.  He  divined  already  that  Miranda  was 
irrecoverable,  that  pursuit  was  useless.  He  now 
clearly  understood  how  and  why  she  had  suffered. 
His  late  agony  in  her  room  she  had  many  times 
endured,  looking  in  his  letters  for  a  passion  not 
yet  illumined,  eager  to  find  that  he  needed  her, 
but  finding  always  that  she  lived  in  a  palace  of 
cloud.  He  saw  now  that  Miranda's  love  had 
never  been  the  dreaming  ecstasy  from  which  he 
himself  had  just  awakened.  He  remembered  and 
understood  what  he  had  merely  accepted  as  char- 
acteristic of  her  turbulent  spirit  —  sudden  fits  of 
petulance,  occasions  when  without  apparent  reason 
she  had  flung  savagely  away  from  him.  There 
were  other  things  which  thrilled  him  now,  as  when 
her  arms  tightened  about  his  neck,  and  she 
answered  his  light  caress  with  urgent  kisses. 

Peter's  mother  gave  him  a  note  in  Miranda's 
hand: 

"  PETER, —  We  are  going  to  Canada,  and  I  am 
not  going  to  write  to  you.  I  think,  Peter,  you 
are  only  a  boy,  and  one  day  you  will  find  out 
whether  you  really  loved  me.  I  am  older  than 

73 


74  PETER  PARAGON 

you.  I  shall  not  come  back  to  you,  because  you 
are  going  to  be  rich,  and  your  friends  cannot  be 
my  friends.  If  you  had  answered  my  last  letter, 
perhaps  I  could  not  have  done  this.  But  it  is 
better." 

When  Peter  had  finished  reading  he  saw  that 
his  mother  was  watching  him.  He  was  learning 
to  notice  things.  His  mother,  too,  he  had  never 
really  regarded  except  in  relation  to  himself.  Yet 
she  had  seen  unfold  the  tale  of  his  passion.  She, 
too,  had  been  affected.  He  passed  her  the  letter, 
and  waited  as  she  read. 

"  You  know,  mother,  what  this  means  ?  "  he 
asked,  shyly  moved  to  confide  in  her. 

"  Yes,  Peter,  I  think  I  do,"  she  answered,  glad 
of  his  trust. 

Peter  bent  eagerly  towards  her.  "  Can  you 
tell  me  where  they  have  gone?  " 

Mrs.  Paragon  gently  denied  him: 

"  No  one  knows.  They  left  very  quickly. 
Mr.  Smith  owed  some  money." 

It  pained  her  so  sordidly  to  touch  Peter's 
tragedy. 

"  He  ran  away? "  concluded  Peter,  squarely 
facing  it. 

Mrs.  Paragon  bent  her  head.  Peter  tried  to 
say  something.  He  wanted  to  tell  his  mother 
how  suddenly  precious  to  him  was  her  knowledge 
and  understanding.  But  he  broke  off  and  his 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  75 

mouth  trembled.  In  a  moment  she  had  taken  him 
as  a  child. 

At  last  she  spoke  to  him  again,  wisely  and 
bravely : 

'  Try  to  put  all  this  away,"  she  pleaded. 
'  You  are  too  young.  I  want  you  to  be  happy 
with  your  friends." 

She  paused  shyly,  a  little  daunted  by  the  thought 
in  her  mind.  Then  she  quietly  continued: 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  think  yet  of  women." 

She  continued  to  urge  him : 

"  Life  is  so  full  of  things.  You  think  now  only 
of  this  disappointment,  but,  Peter  dear,  I  want 
you  to  be  strong  and  famous." 

Her  words,  years  afterwards  to  be  remembered, 
passed  over  Peter's  head.  He  hardly  knew  what 
she  said.  He  was  conscious  only  of  her  tender- 
ness —  his  first  comfort.  It  was  the  consecration 
of  their  discovered  intimacy. 

Uncle  Henry  was  away  from  home  —  not  ex- 
pected for  several  days.  Peter  was  grateful  for 
this.  He  could  not  have  met  the  rosy  man  with 
the  heartiness  he  required.  -  Peter  spent  the  even- 
ing talking  to  his  mother  of  Oxford  and  his  new 
friends.  She  quietly  insisted  that  he  should. 

But,  when  Peter  was  alone  once  more  in  his 
room,  his  grief  came  back  the  deadlier  for  being 
held  away.  He  sat  for  half  an  hour  in  the  dark. 
Then  he  left  the  room  and  knocked  at  his  mother's 
door. 


76  PETER  PARAGON 

"Is  that  you,  Peter?" 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

The  door  was  not  locked  and  she  called  him  in. 
He  had  a  plan  to  discuss,  but  it  could  have  waited. 
He  merely  obeyed  a  blind  instinct  to  get  away 
from  his  misery.  His  mother  leaned  from  the 
bed  on  her  elbow,  and  Peter  sat  beside  her.  She 
raised  her  arm  to  his  shoulder  with  a  gesture  slow 
and  large.  Peter  insensibly  found  comfort  in  her 
beauty.  He  had  never  before  realised  his  mother 
was  beautiful.  Was  it  the  open  calm  of  her  fore- 
head or  her  deep  eyes  ? 

"  Can't  you  sleep,  dear?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  something." 

"Well?" 

Mrs.  Paragon  tranquilly  waited. 

"  I  want  to  go  away,"  said  Peter.  "  I  can't 
bear  to  be  so  near  to  everything." 

Mrs.  Paragon  was  immediately  practical. 

"  Where  do  you  want  to  go?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  could  spend  the  vacation  in  London,"  sug- 
gested Peter. 

"  What  will  your  uncle  say?  " 

"  Tell  him  everything." 

Mrs.    Paragon    smiled    at   herself   explaining 
Peter's  tragedy  to  Uncle  Henry. 
'  You  want  to  go  at  once?  " 

"  Please." 

Peter's  mother  looked  wistfully,  with  doubt  in 
her  heart.  Her  hand  tightened  on  his  arm. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  77 

"  I  wonder,"  she  almost  whispered.  "  Can  I 
trust  you  to  go?  " 

She  looked  at  him  with  her  calm  eyes. 

"  Peter,"  she  said  at  last,  "  you  still  belong  to 
me.  You  must  come  back  to  me  as  my  own.  Do 
you  understand?  " 

Peter  saw  yet  deeper  into  his  mother's  heart  — 
the  mother  he  had  so  long  neglected  to  know. 
Her  question  hung  in  the  air,  but  he  could  not 
trust  his  voice.  His  eyes  answered  her  in  an 
honourable  promise.  Then  suddenly  he  bent  his 
head  to  her  bosom.  Her  arms  accepted  him. 

Scarcely  half  an  hour  later  Peter  was  fast  sleep- 
ing in  his  room.  Already  the  torrent  of  his  life 
was  breaking  a  fresh  channel.  He  had  dedicated 
himself  anew. 


XIII 

PETER  reached  London  in  the  late  afternoon. 
Already  he  was  looking  forward. 

His  impetuous  desire  to  get  away  from  Haming- 
burgh  was  blind  obedience  to  an  instinct  of  his 
youth  to  have  done  with  things  finished.  He  was 
most  incredibly  young.  His  late  agony  for  Mi- 
randa left  him  only  the  more  sensitive  to  small 
things  that  tended  to  be  more  freshly  written  upon 
his  mind.  It  might  crudely  be  said  that  his  first 
impulse  was  to  forget  Miranda.  He  had  in  a 
few  hours  burnt  out  the  passion  of  several  years; 
and  he  already  was  seeking  unawares  fresh  fuel 
to  light  again  his  fire  upon  a  hearth  which  suddenly 
was  cold. 

The  intensity  of  his  need  to  feel  again  the  blow 
which  his  checked  aspiration  towards  Miranda  had 
so  suddenly  kindled  was  leading  him  blindly  out 
and  away  from  her.  Paradoxically  he  was  start- 
ing away  from  Miranda  upon  a  pilgrimage  to  find 
her  —  a  pilgrimage  which  could  only  come  full 
circle  when  again  the  passion  she  had  raised  could 
be  felt  and  recognised.  The  penalty  of  his  early 
visitation  by  the  Promethean  spark  was  about  to 
be  exacted.  Henceforth  life  must  be  a  restless 
and  a  perpetual  adventure.  London  now  was  his 
immediate  quest,  a  quest  which  seemingly  had 

78 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  79 

nothing  now  to  do  with  Miranda,  though  ulti- 
mately it  confessed  her. 

A  mild  excitement  struggled  into  his  mind  as  the 
train  plunged  him  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  city. 
London,  the  centre  of  the  world,  was  spread 
before  him. 

He  took  rooms  in  Cursitor  Street  at  the  top 
of  a  tall  building.  His  sitting-room  opened  upon 
Chancery  Lane.  There  was  a  sober  gateway  into 
a  quadrangle  which  suggested  Oxford. 

That  evening  Peter,  muffled  in  a  heavy  coat, 
rode  for  hours  upon  the  omnibuses.  His  first  ex- 
cursion, in  the  early  evening,  presented  the 
workers  of  London  pouring  home.  The  per- 
petual roar  and  motion  of  this  multitude  soothed 
Peter,  and  gradually  crushed  in  him  all  sense  of 
personal  loss.  He  began  to  feel  how  small  was 
his  drop  of  sorrow.  At  a  crossing  of  many  streets 
he  saw  a  man  knocked  down  by  a  horse.  The 
hum  and  drift  of  London  hardly  paused.  The 
man  was  quickly  lifted  into  a  cab  and  hurried  away. 
Many  passengers  in  the  waiting  omnibuses  on  the 
pavement  were  unaware  that  anything  had  hap- 
pened. The  incident  profoundly  affected  Peter. 
In  this  great  torrent  of  lives  it  seemed  that  the 
mischance  of  one  was  of  no  importance. 

Late  at  night  he  stood  in  the  bitter  cold  outside 
one  of  the  theatres.  The  doors  were  suddenly 
flung  open,  and  the  street  was  broken  up  with 
jostling  cabs  and  a  babel  of  shouting  and  whistling. 
Delicately  dressed  women  waited  on  the  pavement 


8o  PETER  PARAGON 

or  were  whirled  away  in  magnificent,  shining  cars. 
Peter  caught  some  of  their  conversation:  frag- 
ments of  new  plans  for  meeting,  small  anxieties 
as  to  whether  some  trivial  pleasure  would  be  quite 
perfect,  comments  on  the  play  they  had  seen  — 
wisps  of  talk  reflecting  beautiful,  proud  lives. 

In  a  few  moments  the  street  was  silent  again. 
The  wretched  loafers  who  had  swarmed  about  the 
doors,  thrusting  forward  their  services,  vanished 
as  swiftly  as  they  had  appeared. 

For  the  next  few  days  Peter  tramped  London 
from  end  to  end.  He  realised  its  bitter  contrasts 
and  brutal  energy.  He  lived  only  with  his  Oxford 
books  and  with  this  growing  vision  of  modern  life 
superficially  inspected.  He  began  to  think.  He 
did  not  look  for  any  of  the  men  he  knew,  but 
brooded  and  watched  alone. 

From  his  window  in  the  morning  he  saw  the 
workers  pass  —  girl-clerks  and  respectable  young 
men,  afterwards  the  solicitors;  and,  passing 
through  the  gates  in  front  of  him,  men  with  shin- 
ing hats,  keen-faced  and  seeming  full  of  prosperous 
respectability.  A  man  with  one  arm  sold  papers 
from  a  stand  at  the  corner.  Several  times,  as  the 
day  passed,  a  pale  and  urgent  youth  would  fly 
down  the  street  on  a  bicycle,  dropping  a  parcel  of 
papers  beside  the  man  with  one  arm.  Peter  traced 
these  bicycles  one  day  to  a  giant  building  where 
the  papers  were  printed. 

Peter  read  in  the  middle  part  of  the  morning. 
For  lunch  he  went  East  into  the  City  or  West  into 


.  A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  81 

the  Strand.  In  the  East  he  lunched  beside  men 
of  commerce  —  men  who  ate  squarely  and  com- 
fortably from  the  joint  or  grill.  West  he  lunched 
with  clerks  and  people  from  the  shops,  with  actors 
and  journalists,  publishers  and  secretaries. 

In  the  afternoon  Peter  sometimes  walked  into 
the  region  of  parks  and  great  houses.  He  saw 
the  shops  and  the  women.  Bond  Street  particu- 
larly fascinated.him.  Somehow  it  seemed  just  the 
right  place  for  the  insolent  and  idle  people  who 
at  night  flashed  beside  him  in  silk  and  fur.  One 
afternoon  he  went  at  random  from  far  West  to 
far  East,  touching  extremes,  and  once  he  went  by 
boat  to  Greenwich,  curiously  passing  the  busy  and 
wonderful  docks.  He  knew  also  the  limitless  drab 
regions  to  the  north  and  west  —  cracks  between 
London  and  the  better  suburbs. 

Gradually  the  monster  took  outline  and  lived 
in  his  brain.  He  watched  the  lesser  people 
passing  from  their  work  and  followed  them  to 
villas  in  Hammersmith  or  Streatham.  The  shiny 
hats  he  tracked  to  Kensington;  the  furred  women 
in  Bond  Street  to  some  near  terrace  or  square. 

All  that  Peter  saw,  or  filled  in  for  himself, 
though  it  took  shape  in  his  mind,  did  not  yet  drive 
him  into  an  attitude.  He  was  interested.  The 
sleeping  wretches  on  the  Embankment;  men  who 
stopped  him  for  pence,  women  who  stole  about 
the  streets  by  night,  were  all  part  of  this  vivid  and 
varied  life  he  was  learning  to  know.  It  was  not 
yet  called  to  account.  It  was  just  observed. 


82  PETER  PARAGON 

But  the  train  was  laid  for  an  intellectual  ex- 
plosion. London  waited  to  be  branded  as  a  city 
of  slaves,  with  beggary  in  the  streets  and  surfeit 
in  men's  houses. 

He  went  one  evening  to  a  theatre.  A  popular 
musical  comedy  was  running  into  a  second  edition. 
Peter  had  never  before  visited  a  theatre  since  as 
a  boy  he  had  seen  the  plays  of  Shakespeare  pre- 
sented by  a  travelling  company  at  home. 

He  watched  the  people  from  an  upper  part  of 
the  house.  The  women  attracted  him  most. 
They  were  more  easily  placed  than  the  men.  He 
could  better  imagine  their  lives.  Their  faces  and 
clothes  and  manners  were  more  eloquent  of  posi- 
tion and  character.  Peter  was  amazed  at  the 
diversity  of  the  stalls  —  substantial  dames,  plati- 
tudes in  flesh  and  blood,  whom  he  instinctively 
matched  with  the  men  who  lunched  solidly  to  the 
east  of  Fleet  Street;  women,  beside  them,  who 
breathed  ineffable  distinction;  vivacious  young  girls 
bright  with  pleasure  and  health;  women,  beside 
them,  boldly  putting  a  final  touch  to  an  elaborate 
complexion.  Other  parts  of  the  house  were  more 
of  a  kind.  The  balcony  beneath  him  presented  a 
solid  front  of  formal  linen  and  dresses  in  the  mean 
of  fashion.  Topping  all,  in  the  gallery,  was  a 
dark  array  of  people,  notably  drab  in  the  electric 
blaze. 

Except  from  the  conversation  of  his  Oxford 
friends  Peter  was  quite  unprepared  for  the  enter- 
tainment that  followed.  At  first  it  merely  be- 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  83 

wildered  him.  The  perfunctory  sex  pantomime 
between  the  principal  players;  recurring  afflictions 
of  the  chorus  into  curious  movements;  the  mechani- 
cal embracing  and  caressing;  the  perpetual  erotic 
innuendo  —  this  was  all  so  unintelligible  and 
strange,  so  entirely  outside  all  that  Peter  felt  and 
knew  about  life,  that  his  imagination  hesitated  to 
receive  it.  Gradually,  however,  there  stole  into 
his  brain  a  mild  disgust. 

Finally  there  was  a  ballet.  Its  principal  feature 
was  a  stocking  dance.  Eight  young  women  ap- 
peared in  underclothing,  and  eight  of  their  total 
sixteen  legs  were  clad  in  eight  black  stockings  — 
the  odd  stockings  being  evenly  divided.  The  first 
part  of  the  ballet  consisted  in  eight  black  stockings 
being  drawn  upon  the  eight  legs  which  were  bare. 
The  second  part  of  the  ballet  consisted  in  removing 
eight  original  black  stockings  from  the  legs 
adjacent.  The  ballet  was  performed  to  music 
intended  to  seduct,  and  the  girls  crooned  an  obll- 
gato  to  the  words,  "  Wouldn't  you  like  to 
assist  us?  " 

Peter  flushed  into  astonishment  and  anger.  He 
felt  as  if  a  strange  hand  had  suddenly  drawn  the 
curtain  from  the  most  secret  corner  of  his  being. 
He  felt  as  though  he  had  been  publicly  stripped. 
He  drew  himself  tightly  back  into  his  seat. 

The  curtain  dropped,  and  the  lights  went  up 
for  an  interval.  People  in  the  stalls  talked  and 
smiled.  No  flutter  of  misgiving  troubled  the 
marble  breasts  of  the  great  ladies.  Men  looked 


84  PETER  PARAGON 

as  before  into  the  eyes  of  their  women.     Nothing, 
it  seemed,  had  happened. 

Peter  was  amazed  —  his  brain  on  fire  with 
vague  phrases  of  contempt.  His  fingers  shook  in 
a  passion  of  wrath  as  he  gathered  up  his  hat  and 
coat. 

Missing  his  way,  he  went  into  the  bar.  It  was 
crowded  with  white-fronted  men,  their  hats  set 
rakishly  back,  discussing  with  freedom  and  energy 
the  quality  of  the  entertainment.  Nothing  of 
what  Peter  had  seen  or  felt  seemed  to  have  touched 
them.  Suddenly  Peter  was  greeted : 

"Hullo,  Paragon!" 

The  Hon.  Freddie  Dundoon  was  a  Gamaliel 
man  —  one  for  whom  Peter  and  the  college  gen- 
erally had  much  contempt,  an  amiable  fool,  of  good 
blood,  but,  as  sometimes  happens,  of  no  manners 
or  intelligence. 

Peter  muttered  a  greeting  and  passed  on.  But 
he  was  not  so  easily  to  get  away.  Dundoon 
caught  him  by  the  arm. 

'  You're  not  going?  "  he  protested. 
'  Yes,  I  am,"  said  Peter,  turning  away  his  head. 
He  did  not  like  people  who  breathed  into  his  face. 

"  Stuff.     Come  and  have  a  brandy  and  soda." 

"  No,  thanks." 

"What's  the  hurry?" 

Peter  stood  in  bitter  patience,  too  exasperated 
to  speak. 

"Won't  you  really  have  a  drink?"  Dundoon 
persisted. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  85 

"  No,  thanks,"  Peter  wearily  repeated. 

"  Come  home  and  see  the  mater.  She's  your 
sort.  Books  and  all  that." 

"  Many  thanks,"  said  Peter  more  politely. 
"  I'm  afraid  I  can't." 

"  Sorry  you  won't  stop.  I'd  take  you  to  Miss 
Beryl.  Third  stocking  from  the  right." 

"  Curse  you.     Let  me  get  out  of  this." 

Peter  wrenched  his  arm  rudely  away.  He 
blundered  into  a  pendulous  fat  man  in  the  door, 
and  turned  to  apologise.  Dundoon  was  still  look- 
ing after  him,  his  jaw  fallen  in  a  vacant  surprise. 

Peter  thankfully  breathed  the  cold  pure  air  of 
the  street.  He  walked  at  random.  He  tried  to 
collect  himself,  to  discover  why  he  had  felt  so 
bitterly  ashamed,  so  furiously  angry.  His  young 
flesh  was  in  arms.  He  had  seen  a  travesty  of 
something  he  felt  was,  in  its  reality,  great  and 
clean.  His  senses  rebelled  against  the  mockery 
to  which  they  had  been  invited.  Sex  was  coming 
to  the  full  in  Peter.  It  waited  in  his  blood  and 
brain.  He  was  conscious  in  himself  of  a  sleeping 
power,  and  conscious  that  evening  of  an  attempt 
to  degrade  it.  He  shrank  instinctively. 

Men  at  Gamaliel  had  called  him  a  Puritan.  He 
chafed  at  the  term,  feeling  in  himself  no  hostility 
or  distrust  of  life.  It  was  the  sly,  mechanical 
travesty  of  these  things,  peeping  out  of  their  talk, 
which  offended  him.  To-night  he  had  seen  this 
travesty  offered  to  a  great  audience  of  men  and 
women.  Brooding  on  a  secret  which  had  painted 


86  PETER  PARAGON 

the  butterfly  and  tuned  the  note  of  an  English 
bird,  he  had  seen  it  to-night,  for  the  first  time,  as 
a  punctual  gluttony.  Impatiently  he  probed  into 
the  roots  of  his  anger.  It  was  not  sex  which  thus 
had  frightened  him,  but  its  prostitution  in  the 
retinue  of  formal  silliness. 

The  audience  he  found  incredible.  Either  the 
entertainment  meant  nothing  at  all  or  it  was 
hideously  profane.  But  the  witnesses,  whose 
diversity  of  class,  sex,  age,  and  habit  he  had  so 
enviously  noted  before  the  curtain  rose,  seemed 
to  see  nothing  at  all.  Mentally  he  made  an  ex- 
ception of  the  man  from  Gamaliel.  He  at  any 
rate  seemed  to  have  a  scale  of  intelligible  values  — 
a  scale  whereby  the  third  stocking  from  the  right 
could  be  accurately  placed. 

Peter  had  walked  for  about  an  hour.  He  had 
wandered  in  a  circle  and  found  himself  again  out- 
side the  theatre  he  had  left.  The  people  were 
streaming  on  to  the  pavement,  unaffectedly  happy 
after  an  evening  of  formal  fun  —  men  and  women 
who  had  been  held  in  the  grip  of  life,  or  who  stood, 
as  Peter  stood,  upon  the  threshold,  yet  who  ap- 
parently did  not  object  to  witness  a  parody  of 
their  great  adventure  in  a  ballet  of  black  stockings. 
He  watched  the  street  noisily  emptying  as  the 
audience  scattered.  Soon  he  stood  lonely  and 
still,  tired  of  the  puzzle,  his  anger  exhausted. 

A  hand  was  slipped  gently  under  his  arm.  He 
looked  into  a  pretty  childish  face,  and  realised  that 
the  woman  was  addressing  him. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  87 

"  You  are  waiting?  "  she  suggested. 

Peter  stared  at  her  for  a  moment  —  not  realis- 
ing. She  met  him  with  a  professional  smile,  her 
eyes  filmy  with  a  challenge,  demurely  evading  him. 
He  understood,  and  shrank  rudely  away  from  her, 
with  a  quick  return  of  his  anger.  He  saw  in  her 
face  an  effort  to  steel  herself  against  his  impulsive 
recoil.  He  felt  the  repercussion  of  her  shame. 

But  it  passed.  Her  mouth  hardened.  She 
took  her  hand  from  his  arm,  and  mocking  him 
with  a  light  apology,  slipped  quietly  away. 

Peter  moved  impetuously  forward.  He  felt  a 
warm  friendliness  for  the  woman  in  whom  he  had 
read  a  secret  agony.  For  the  first  time  that  even- 
ing he  had  come  into  touch  with  a  fellow.  She, 
too,  felt  something  of  what  was  troubling  him. 
His  gesture  of  sympathy  was  not  perceived.  He 
watched  her  dwindling  down  the  street,  and  started 
to  follow  her.  She  was  allied  with  him  against  a 
world  which  had  conspired  to  degrade  them. 

Then  he  saw  she  was  no  longer  alone.  She 
stood  talking  with  a  man  upon  the  pavement. 
Her  companion  hailed  a  cab,  and  they  drove  away 
together,  passing  Peter  where  he  had  paused, 
transfixed  with  a  pain  at  his  heart. 

Was  it  jealousy?  Peter  flung  out  his  hands  at 
the  stars;  tears  of  impotent  rage  came  into  his 
eyes.  The  pain  he  endured  was  impersonal  jeal- 
ousy for  a  creature  desecrated.  He  was  jealous 
not  for  the  woman  whose  soul  for  a  moment  he 
had  touched,  but  for  life  itself  profaned. 


XIV 

ALL  that  night,  with  his  window  wide  to  the  cold 
air,  Peter  pondered  the  life  of  London.  Early 
next  day,  his  head  confused  with  grasping  at  ideas 
whereby  intellectually  to  express  his  disgust,  he 
went  into  the  streets. 

He  walked  into  a  broad  Western  thoroughfare 
famous  for  cheap  books.  Embedded  among  the 
more  substantial  warehouses  was  an  open  stall 
which  Peter  had  frequently  noticed.  The  books 
in  this  shop  were  always  new,  always  cheap,  very 
strangely  assorted,  and  mostly  by  people  of  whom 
Peter  had  never  heard.  There  were  plays,  pam- 
phlets, studies  in  economy  and  hygiene,  in  mysti- 
cism and  the  suffrage,  trade-unionism  and  lyric 
poetry,  Wagner  and  sanitation.  Peter  looked 
curiously  at  an  inscription  in  gold  lettering  above 
the  door:  "  The  Bomb  Shop." 

The  keeper  of  the  stall  came  forward  as  Peter 
lingered.  He  was  tall,  with  disordered  hair, 
neatly  dressed  in  tweeds.  He  looked  at  Peter  in 
a  friendly  way  —  obviously  accessible. 

1  You  are  reading  the  inscription?"  he  said 
politely. 

4  What  does  it  mean?  "  Peter  asked. 

"  Have  you  looked  at  any  of  the  books?  " 

*  They  seemed  to  be  mixed." 

"  They  are  in  one  way  all  alike." 
88 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  89 

"How  is  that?" 

"  Explosive." 

The  keeper  of  the  stall  looked  curiously  at 
Peter,  and  began  to  like  his  ingenuous  face. 

"  Come  into  the  shop,"  he  said,  and  led  the  way 
into  its  recesses. 

'  This  is  not  an  ordinary  shop,"  he  explained, 
as  Peter  began  to  read  some  titles.  "  I  am  a 
specialist." 

"What  is  your  subject?"  Peter  formally 
inquired. 

"  Revolution.  Every  book  in  this  establish- 
ment is  a  revolutionary  book.  All  my  books  are 
written  by  authors  who  know  that  the  world  is 
wrong,  and  that  they  can  put  it  right." 

"  Who  know  that  the  world  is  wrong?  "  Peter 
echoed. 

1  That's  the  idea." 

"  I  know  that  the  world  is  wrong,"  said  Peter 
wearily.  "  I  want  to  know  the  reason." 

"  It's  a  question  of  temperament,"  said  the 
bookman.  "  Some  like  to  think  it  is  a  matter  of 
diet  or  hygiene.  Here  ,is  the  physiological, 
medical,  and  health  section.  Some  think  it  is  a 
question  of  beauty  and  ugliness.  The  art  sec- 
tion is  to  your  right.  Or  perhaps  you  are  an 
economist?  " 

Peter,  who  had  not  yet  compassed  irony,  looked 
curiously  at  his  new  friend. 

"Seriously?"  he  said  at  last,  and  paused 
irresolutely. 


90  PETER  PARAGON 

"  You  want  me  to  be  serious?  " 

"  I've  been  in  London  for  five  days.  Last 
night  I  was  at  a  theatre.  Then  a  woman  spoke 
to  me  in  the  street.  I  don't  understand  it." 

"  What  don't  you  understand?  " 

"  I  don't  understand  anything." 

The  bookman  began  to  be  interested. 

"  Have  you  any  money?  "  he  briefly  inquired. 

Peter  pulled  out  a  bundle  of  notes.  "  Are 
these  any  good?  "  he  asked. 

The  bookman  looked  at  the  notes,  and  at  Peter 
with  added  interest. 

"  This  is  remarkable,"  he  decided.  "  You  seem 
to  be  in  good  health,  and  you  carry  paper  money 
about  with  you  as  if  it  were  rejected  manuscript. 
Yet  you  want  to  know  what's  wrong  with  the 
world.  Have  you  read  anything?  " 

"  I  have  read  Aristotle's  Ethics,  Crete's  History 
of  Greece,  and  Kant's  Critique  of  Pure  Reason. 
I'm  a  Gamaliel  man,"  said  Peter. 

The  bookman's  eyes  were  dancing. 

"  Can  you  spend  five  pounds  at  this  shop?  " 

'  Yes,"  said  Peter  dubiously. 

'*  Very  well.  I'll  make  you  up  a  parcel.  You 
shall  know  what  is  wrong  with  the  world.  You 
will  find  that  most  of  the  violent  toxins  from  which 
we  suffer  are  matched  with  anti-toxins  equally  vio- 
lent. This  man,  for  instance,"  said  the  bookman, 
reaching  down  a  volume,  "  explains  that  liberty 
is  the  cause  of  all  our  misfortunes." 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  91 

He  began  to  put  together  a  heap  of  books  on 
the  counter. 

"  Nevertheless,"  he  continued,  adding  a  volume 
to  the  heap,  "  a  too  rigid  system  of  State  control 
is  equally  to  blarrre.  Here,  on  the  other  hand, 
is  a  book  which  tells  us  that  London  is  unhappy 
because  the  sex  energy  of  its  inhabitants  is  sup- 
pressed and  discouraged.  Here,  again,  is  a 
book  —  Physical  Nirvana  —  which  condemns  sex 
energy  as  the  root  of  all  human  misery.  You  tell 
me  that  last  night  a  woman  spoke  to  you  in  the 
street.  Here  is  a  writer  who  explains  that  she  is  a 
consequence  of  long  hours  and  low  wages.  But 
she  is  equally  well  explained  by  her  own  self- 
indulgence  and  love  of  pleasure." 

He  broke  off,  the  books  having  by  this  time 
grown  to  a  pile. 

'  There  is  a  lot  to  read,"  said  Peter. 

"  It  seems  a  lot,"  the  bookman  reassured  him. 
"  But  these  modern  people  are  easy  thinkers." 

Peter  looked  suspiciously  at  the  bookman. 
"  You  don't  take  these  books  very  seriously 
yourself." 

"  But  I've  read  them/'  said  the  bookman. 
"  You'd  better  read  them  too.  It's  wise  to  begin 
by  knowing  what  people  are  writing  and  thinking. 
It  saves  time.  Read  these  books,  and  burn  them 
—  most  of  them,  at  any  rate." 

Peter  left  the  shop  wondering  why  he  had 
wasted  five  pounds.  He  drifted  towards  Traf- 


92  PETER  PARAGON 

algar  Square  and  met  a  demonstration  of  trade- 
unionists  with  flying  banners  and  a  brass  band  that 
played  a  feeble  song  for  the  people.  He  followed 
them  into  the  square,  and  joined  a  crowd  which 
collected  about  the  foot  of  the  Monument. 

The  speeches  raised  a  sleeping  echo  in  Peter's 
brain,  a  forgotten  ecstasy  of  devotion  to  his 
father's  cause.  The  speaker  harshly  and  crudely 
denounced  the  luxury  of  the  rich  as  founded  upon 
the  indigence  of  the  poor,  dwelling  on  just  those 
brutal  contrasts  of  London  which  had  already 
touched  Peter.  The  speaker's  bitter  eloquence 
moved  him,  but  the  narrow  vulgarity  of  his  attack 
was  disconcerting.  Peter  was  sure  that  life  was 
not  explained  by  the  simple  villainy  of  a  few  rich 
people. 

He  walked  away  from  the  crowd  towards  West- 
minster, trying  to  realise  as  an  ordered  whole  his 
distracting  vision  of  London.  The  dignity  of 
Whitehall  was  mocked  in  his  memory  by  eight 
black  stockings,  by  the  provoking  eyes  of  the  man 
at  the  bookshop,  by  the  fleeting  shame  of  a  strange 
woman  who  had  spoken  to  him  in  the  street. 

Peter  thought  again  of  his  father  and  of  the 
books  they  had  read.  His  father  had  rightly  re- 
belled. All  was  not  well.  On  the  other  hand, 
Peter  got  no  help  from  his  father's  books.  They 
had  prepared  in  him  a  revolutionary  temper;  but 
they  were  clearly  not  pertinent  to  anything  Peter 
had  seen.  They  dealt  with  battles  that  were  won 
already  —  problems  that  had  passed.  Priests  and 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  93 

Kings,  Liberty  and  Toleration,  Fraternity  and 
Equality  —  all  these  things  were  historical. 

Early  that  evening,  with  his  window  open  to 
the  noises  of  London,  he  began  to  struggle  through 
the  wilderness  of  modern  revolutionary  literature. 
Book  after  book  he  flung  violently  away.  His 
quick  mind  rejected  the  slovenly  thought  of  the 
lesser  quacks. 

At  last  he  came  upon  a  book  of  plays  and  pref- 
aces by  an  author  whose  name  was  vaguely 
familiar  —  a  name  which  had  penetrated  to  Ox- 
ford. Peter  began  to  read. 

Here  at  last  was  —  or  seemed  to  be  —  the  real 
thing.  Soon  his  wits  were  leaping  in  pursuit  of 
the  most  active  brain  in  Europe  —  a  brain,  too, 
which  dealt  directly  with  the  thronging  puzzles 
of  to-day.  Peter  exulted  in  the  clean  logic  of  this 
writer  —  the  first  writer  he  had  met  who  wrote  of 
the  modern  world. 

Peter's  excitement  became  almost  painful  as  he 
found  passages  directly  bearing  upon  things  he 
had  himself  observed,  giving  them  coherence, 
stripping  away  pretence.  Peter,  vaguely  aware 
that  life  was  imperfect,  his  mind  new-stored  with 
pictures  that  distressed  and  puzzled  him,  now 
came  into  touch  with  a  keen  destructive  intelli- 
gence which  brought  society  tumbling  about  his 
ears  in  searching  analysis,  impudent  and  rapid  wit, 
in  a  rush  of  buoyant  analogy  and  vivid  sense  — 
an  intelligence,  moreover,  with  a  great  gift  of 
literary  expression,  at  the  same  time  eloquent  and 


94  PETER  PARAGON 

familiar.  It  seemed  as  if  the  writer  were  himself 
present  in  the  room,  talking  personally  to  the 
reader. 

Peter  hunted  from  the  pile  of  books  all  of  this 
author  he  could  find,  and  sat  far  into  the  night, 
breaking  from  mood  to  mood.  Many  times  he 
audibly  laughed  as  he  caught  a  new  glimpse  of  the 
human  comedy.  In  turn  he  was  angry,  trium- 
phant, and  deeply  pitiful.  Above  all,  he  was  aware 
in  himself  of  a  pleasure  entirely  new  —  a  pleasure 
in  life  intellectually  viewed.  He  felt  he  would 
never  again  be  the  same  after  his  contact  with  the 
delicate  machinery  of  this  modern  mind.  Once 
or  twice  he  shut  the  book  he  was  reading  and  lay 
back  in  his  chair.  His  brain  was  now  alive.  It 
went  forward  independently,  darting  upon  a  hun- 
dred problems,  ideas,  and  questions,  things  he  had 
felt  and  seen. 

He  even  began  to  criticise  and  to  differ  from  the 
author  whose  book  had  shocked  his  brain  into  life. 
Peter  had  only  needed  the  spur;  and  now  he 
answered,  passing  in  review  the  whole  pageant  of 
things  respectable  and  accepted.  His  young  in- 
tellect frisked  and  gambolled  in  the  Parliament 
and  the  Churches;  stripping  Gamaliel;  exploding 
categories;  brandishing  its  fist  in  the  noses  of  all 
reverend  names,  institutions,  and  systems;  trium- 
phantly yelling  as  the  firm  and  ancient  world 
cracked  and  tumbled. 

Tired  at  last,  he  shut  the  last  of  many  volumes 
and  went  to  bed,  not  without  a  look  of  contempt 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  95 

towards  the  corner  whither  his  Oxford  studies  had 
previously  been  hurled.  His  brain  shouted  with 
laughter  in  despite  of  his  learned  University. 
Derisively  he  shut  his  eyes,  too  weary  to  be  quite 
sure  whether  he  precisely  knew  what  he  was 
deriding. 

He  woke  late  in  the  morning,  the  winter  sun 
shining  brilliantly  into  his  room.  Revolutionary 
literature  lay  to  right  and  left  —  the  small  grey 
volumes  which  had  precipitated  his  intellectual 
catastrophe  quietly  conspicuous  in  a  small  heap  by 
themselves.  Peter  walked  to  the  window  and 
looked  into  the  street.  It  was  altogether  the 
same,  with  men  of  law  in  shining  hats  passing 
under  the  archway  opposite  into  their  quiet 
demesne.  London  stood  solidly  as  before. 
Peter  looked  a  little  dubiously  at  the  grey  books. 
They,  too,  apparently  were  real. 


XV 

PETER  was  at  home  for  a  day  before  returning  to 
Oxford.  Hamingburgh  seemed  to  have  grown 
very  small  and  quiet.  He  felt  in  coming  back  a 
loss  of  energy.  In  London  he  had  seemed  at  the 
heart  of  a  hundred  questions.  He  had  watched 
the  London  crowds  with  intimacy.  They  were 
very  real.  He  lost  this  reality  in  the  quiet  streets 
of  Hamingburgh.  Life  ceased  to  ask  urgently 
for  an  explanation. 

He  noted  on  his  way  from  the  station  that 
people  were  moving  into  Miranda's  empty  house. 
But  it  hardly  seemed  to  matter. 

Peter  enjoyed  one  happy  evening  with  his 
mother,  and  left  for  Oxford. 

But  Oxford  had  disappeared.  Where  was  the 
beautiful  city  —  offering  illimitable  knowledge, 
sure  wisdom,  lovely  authority?  Peter  had  come 
into  touch  with  life.  He  had  craved  to  find  order 
and  beauty  in  the  pageant  of  London.  Now,  in 
the  stones  of  Oxford,  he  saw  only  the  frozen  ideas 
of  a  vanished  age  —  serene  accomplishment  whose 
finality  exasperated  him.  He  looked  from  his 
window  across  the  shaven  green  of  a  perfect  lawn 
to  the  chapel  tower.  The  hour  chiming  in 
quarters  from  a  dozen  bells  marked  off  yet  another 
small  distance  between  Oxford  and  the  living  day. 

96 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  97 

His  disillusion  of  the  previous  term  was  now 
openly  confessed  and  examined. 

Peter  was  not  alone.  Gamaliel  drew  to  itself 
some  excellent  brain.  It  was  celebrated  for  young 
men  prematurely  wise  —  young  men  who  had 
learned  everything  at  twenty-two,  and  never  after- 
wards added  to  their  store.  Peter  became  a  lead- 
ing character  in  the  intellectual  set.  They  jested 
in  good  Greek,  filling  their  heads  with  knowledge 
they  affected  to  despise,  taking  in  vain  the  theories 
of  their  masters,  merrily  playing  with  their  grand- 
sires'  bones  of  learning.  They  snorted  with 
delight  at  the  efforts  of  their  chief  clerical 
instructor  to  evade  the  Rabelaisian  obscenities  of 
Aristophanes  or  a  too  curious  inquiry  into  certain 
social  habits  of  old  Greece.  They  reduced  Hegel 
to  half-sheets  of  paper,  suggested  profanely 
various  readings  for  Petronius,  speculated  without 
reverence  on  the  darker  habits  of  mankind  from 
Aristotle  to  the  Junior  Prior.  But  in  all  this 
horseplay  of  minds  young  and  keen  was  a  strain 
of  contemptuous  fatigue.  Gamaliel,  out  of  its 
clever  youngsters,  bred  civil  servants,  politicians, 
or  university  professors.  Intellectual  pedantry 
waited  for  those  whom  Gamaliel  intellectually  sat- 
isfied. Intellectual  cynicism  —  the  cynicism  of  a 
firm  belief  that  nothing  is  important  or  new  — 
waited  for  those  who  played  the  game  of  scholar- 
ship with  humour  enough  to  find  it  barren. 

Peter,  therefore,  was  not  alone  in  his  reaction 
against  the  formal  discipline  of  the  College,  but  he 


98  PETER  PARAGON 

was  alone  in  the  obstinate  ardour  of  his  youth. 
He  had  just  discovered  that  life  was  absorbing. 
Though  he  sat  far  into  many  nights  in  scholarly 
gymnastics  with  his  friends,  he  came  away  to 
watch  the  grey  light  creeping  into  a  world  he 
keenly  wanted  to  understand.  He  jested  only 
with  his  brain,  driven  to  the  game  by  physical 
energy  and  friendly  emulation.  He  was  never 
really  touched  by  the  cynicism  and  horse  laughter 
of  his  set.  He  often  left  these  meetings  in  a 
sudden  access  of  desolation. 

Peter's  directors  began  sadly  to  shake  their 
heads.  They  knew  the  symptoms  —  knew  he  was 
already  marked  for  failure.  The  Warden  gravely 
reasoned  with  him. 

"  Mr.  Paragon,"  he  said,  handing  Peter  his 
papers  for  the  term,  "  these  are  second  class." 

Peter  was  mortified.  His  intellectual  comrades 
mocked,  but  they  also  satisfied,  their  masters. 
Peter  was  of  another  fibre.  He  could  do  nothing 
without  his  entire  heart.  Various  readings  in 
Horace  no  longer  fired  him.  The  kick  had  gone 
out  of  his  work.  His  brain  was  elsewhere. 

He  took  the  papers  in  silence.     He  could  not 

understand  his  failure.     Hitherto  satisfying  the 

examiners  had  been  for  Peter  a  matter  of  course. 

'  You    have    neglected    your    reading? "    the 

Warden  suggested,  as  Peter  turned  silently  away. 

1  No,  sir." 

"  Won't  you  take  us  a  little  more  seriously?  " 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  99 

"  I  cannot  be  interested,"  Peter  shot  out 
impulsively. 

"  Is  this  wise?  "  the  Warden  gravely  inquired. 
"  We  expect  you  to  do  well." 

"  I  will  try,  sir." 

Peter  was  sad,  but  not  sullen. 

"  You  owe  it  to  the  College,"  said  the  Warden, 
drily  incisive.  Then  he  added :  "  Why  must  you 
go  so  quickly,  Mr.  Paragon?  You  are  not  yet 
ready  for  things  outside." 

Peter  was  suddenly  grateful.  He  was,  at  any 
rate,  understood. 

"  I  will  try  with  my  whole  soul,"  he  ardently 
exclaimed. 

"  Meanwhile,"  the  Warden  concluded  with  a 
smile,  "  notes  on  gobbets  need  not  be  written  in  the 
manner  of  La  Rochefoucauld.  There  isn't  time." 

Peter,  passing  into  the  quadrangle,  met 
Dundoon.  He  was  in  riding  breeches.  He  lived 
in  riding  breeches,  till  they  became  for  Peter  a 
symbol  of  well-born  inanity.  Moreover,  he  was 
freely  indulging  his  principal  pleasure  —  namely, 
he  was  vigorously  cracking  a  riding-whip,  making 
the  walls  ring  with  snap  after  snap. 

"  Hullo,"  he  said  as  Peter  passed  within  careful 
distance. 

"  Idiot,"  muttered  Peter  between  his  teeth. 

"  Freshly  roasted  by  the  Wuggins  —  What?  " 

"  Dundoon,  you're  a  damned  nuisance.  Put  it 
away." 


ioo  PETER  PARAGON 

"  It's  most  important,  Peter  Pagger.  It's  most 
devilish  important.  M.F.H. —  What  ?  " 

Dundoon  cracked  his  whip  rather  more  success- 
fully than  usual.  The  snap  tingled  in  Peter's 
brain.  In  a  fit  of  temper  he  sprang  at  Dundoon, 
and  wrenched  the  whip  from  his  hand. 

Dundoon  looked  at  Peter's  gleaming  eyes  as 
though  he  had  seen  the  devil. 

"What's  this?  In  the  name  of  Hell  what 
is.  it?  "  he  said  at  last. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  Peter  with  withering  humility. 
"  Here  is  your  whip." 

He  handed  it  back  to  Dundoon,  who  took  it 
cautiously.  Peter  moved  away.  But  Dundoon 
arrested  him. 

"  Peter  Pagger,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  "  do  I 
understand  that  you've  been  rude  to  me  ?  " 

"  As  you  please." 

"  Because  you'll  be  ragged,  that's  all.  You'll 
be  jolly  well  ragged." 

The  party  of  Dundoon  was  strolling  up,  and  was 
invited  to  hear  the  news. 

"  Here,  you  fellows.  Peter  Pagger  has  been 
very  rude  to  me.  What  shall  we  do  to  him? 
Peter  Pagger  has  been  roasted  by  the  Wuggins  for 
his  naughty  life  in  London.  Third  stocking  from 
the  right  — What?" 

Peter  strode  off  boiling  with  anger. 

Dundoon  belonged  to  a  set  which  derived  prin- 
cipally from  a  famous  English  school.  It  was 
a  set  traditionally  opposed  to  the  intellectuals; 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  101 

indeed  these  two  principal  sets  fed  fat  an  ancient 
grudge.  College  humour  mainly  consisted  at  this 
time  in  the  invention  of  scandalous  histories  by 
members  of  one  set  concerning  members  of  the 
other.  Needless  to  say  the  Paggers  far  excelled 
the  Dundoons  in  the  pith  of  their  libels,  so  that  the 
Dundoons  had  often  to  assert  their  supremacy  in 
other  ways.  Upon  one  cold  winter  night,  for 
example,  the  Paggers,  one  and  all,  retiring  to  rest 
had  missed  a  necessary  vessel.  Thick  snow 
covered  the  garden  quadrangle,  of  which  the 
Dundoons  had  built  an  immense  mound  upon  the 
lawn.  After  three  days  a  thaw  set  vigorously  in, 
and  the  Junior  Prior,  looking  from  his  window  in 
the  dawn,  was  shocked  by  an  unutterable  stack  of 
College  china  mocking  the  doubtful  virginity  of  the 
snow.  The  enterprises  of  the  Dundoons  were 
not  subtle. 

The  Junior  Prior  was  not  at  this  time  happy. 
Quite  recently  he  had  himself  been  one  of  the 
Dundoons.  He  was  a  young  professor  of  mathe- 
matics; and,  because  he  was  also  an  astronomer, 
they  called  him  Peepy.  He  was  brilliant  on  paper, 
but  an  admitted  failure  in  dealing  with  the  men. 
His  discipline  was  openly  flouted. 

Peter,  who  naturally  did  not  know  that  the 
Junior  Prior  was  an  error  of  judgment,  confessed 
by  the  authorities,  regarded  him,  unfairly  to 
Gamaliel,  as  typical  of  the  place.  He  derided  in 
him  a  wholly  ineffectual  and  pedantic  person  whose 
dignity  at  Gamaliel  reduced  life  to  absurdity. 


102  PETER  PARAGON 

Peter  was  barely  civil  to  the  Junior  Prior.  It  was 
characteristic  of  the  Junior  Prior  that  he  tactlessly 
favoured  the  Dundoons.  They  used  his  pet  name, 
and  paraded  with  him  linked  in  familiar  conversa- 
tion. Naturally,  when  his  discipline  fell  upon  men 
outside  the  set  he  favoured,  it  was  bitterly  re- 
sented. It  was  remembered,  a  fact  unknown  to 
the  Fellows,  that  in  the  term  before  Peter  came  to 
Gamaliel  the  Junior  Prior  had  been  pushed  down- 
stairs by  a  robust  man  from  the  Colonies  who, 
though  he  happened  to  be  reading  theology,  was 
old  enough  to  be  the  father  of  the  Junior  Prior, 
and  had,  it  was  believed,  actually  killed  people 
somewhere  in  Mexico. 

The  incident  between  Peter  and  Dundoon  natu- 
rally splashed  rather  rudely  into  these  College 
politics.  Clearly  it  needed  very  little  to  raise  a 
scandal.  One  of  the  Dundoons  talked  with  Peter 
in  the  boat  that  afternoon,  telling  him  that  ven- 
geance was  intended,  but  Peter  was  wearily 
contemptuous. 

In  the  evening  he  sat  peacefully  at  his  window. 
To-day  they  had  paddled  far,  passing  through  the 
locks  to  lower  reaches  of  the  river.  Peter  was 
tired  and  contemplative,  his  brain  still  rocking  with 
the  boat  and  filled  with  desolate  echoes  of  shouting 
over  lonely  water. 

Big  Tom  was  belling  his  hundred-and-one. 
The  lawn  was  deserted  and  very  quiet.  Peter 
could  recover  distantly  the  rhythm  of  the  town 
band.  He  remembered  the  night  of  his  first  intro- 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  103 

duction  to  the  dons  of  Gamaliel  —  the  infinite 
promise  that  once  had  sounded  in  the  Oxford  bells. 

A  riotous  party  broke  into  the  far  corner. 
Peter  was  not  long  in  doubt  as  to  who  they  were. 
Dundoon  was  cracking  his  whip. 

Peter  sat  still  as  they  came  irregularly  towards 
him. 

"  Peter  Pagger,"  said  Dundoon,  not  quite  cer- 
tain of  his  syllables,  "  we  have  come  to  rag  you. 
Have  you  any  objections?  " 

He  stood  below  on  the  grass.  He  had  been 
drinking  and  was  very  serious. 

"None  at  all,"  said  Peter  indifferently.  He 
looked  down,  as  it  were,  on  a  group  of  animals. 

"  He  hasn't  any  objections,"  said  Dundoon 
confidentially  to  his  supporters. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  he  continued,  addressing  the 
open  window.  "  This  is  most  important. 
You've  been  very  rude  to  me.  What  are  you 
going  to  do  about  it?  " 

"  I'm  sitting  here,"  said  Peter. 

He  heard  them  blundering  up  the  wooden  stair- 
case. He  might  have  sported  a  strong  oak,  lock- 
ing them  out  until  his  friends  had  come  together. 
But  it  hardly  seemed  worth  while. 

He  leaned  upright  by  the  open  window,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  as  the  Dundoons  playfully 
rearranged  the  furniture.  The  etiquette  on  an 
occasion  like  this  was  simple.  He  must  not  make 
himself  ridiculous  by  taking  too  seriously  the  frolic 
of  men  not  entirely  sober.  Neither  must  he  allow 


104  PETER  PARAGON 

himself  to  be  insulted.  Peter  looked  carelessly  on, 
very  calm  but  alert  to  decide  when  the  joke  had 
gone  as  far  as  the  decorum  of  Gamaliel  allowed. 

One  of  the  Dundoons  was  arranging  Peter's 
coal  neatly  upon  the  mantelpiece.  Another  was 
turning  his  pictures  to  the  wall.  His  tablecloth 
and  hearthrug  were  transposed.  His  wardrobe 
was  assorted  into  heaps  upon  the  floor  and  labelled 
for  a  sale  by  auction. 

Suddenly  Peter  saw  that  Dundoon  was  about 
to  empty  a  water-jug  into  the  bed.  Peter  passed 
swiftly  towards  him. 

"  I  don't  think  we'll  do  that,"  he  said.  "  It 
would  be  nasty." 

"  You've  been  very  rude  to  me,"  said  Dundoon, 
dangerously  tilting  the  jug. 

Peter  grasped  him  firmly  by  the  arm  and  took 
the  jug  away.  He  put  it  back  into  the  corner. 

Dundoon  looked  at  Peter  for  a  moment  in 
drunken  meditation.  Then  he  put  his  hand  on 
Peter's  shoulder. 

"  Peter  Pagger,"  he  said,  "  this  is  most  im- 
portant. Sorry  to  say  —  absolutely  necessary  to 
cleanse  and  purify  unwholesome  bed."  And  he 
walked  to  the  corner. 

Peter  followed  him. 

"  Dundoon,"  he  said  sharply. 

Dundoon  turned  and  found  Peter  at  his  elbow. 
Peter  shook  his  fist  under  the  nose  of  Dundoon. 

"  Pick  up  that  water-jug  and  I'll  punch  your 
damned  head." 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH 

"  Here,  you  fellows,"  shouted  Dundoon. 
"  Come  and  hear  what  Peter  Pagger  is  saying. 
He's  been  very  rude  to  me." 

The  Dundoons  crowded  into  the  little  bedroom, 
and  someone  called:  "  Take  away  his  trousers!  " 

Peter  stood  back.  There  was  an  uproar  and  a 
movement  towards  him. 

"  Mind  yourselves,"  he  shouted.  "  I'm  going 
to  fight." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  bedroom  door,  and 
silence  fell  suddenly. 

"  Come  in,"  called  Peter,  not  without  relief. 

The  Junior  Prior  stood  in  the  doorway.  He 
had  heard  an  uproar  in  Peter's  rooms,  and  he  did 
not  immediately  see  the  company. 

"  Mr.  Paragon,"  he  said  with  the  dignity  of  a 
sergeant,  "  what's  all  this  noise  ?  " 

He  had  got  as  far  as  this  when  Dundoon  sud- 
denly put  a  fond  arm  around  his  neck. 

"It's  all  right,  Peepy,"  he  said.  "Peter 
Pagger's  been  very  rude  to  me." 

The  Junior  Prior  changed  colour,  and  Peter 
enjoyed  his  confusion.  The  Junior  Prior's  at- 
tempt at  discipline  collapsed.  He  had  come  to 
assert  his  authority  over  a  mere  member  of  the 
college,  but  he  had  fallen  among  friends. 

"  Don't  you  think  this  has  gone  far  enough?  " 
He  almost  pleaded  with  Dundoon. 

"  Peter  Pagger's  been  very  rude  to  me." 

"  Yes.     But  I  think  you  ought  to  come  away." 

"  But,  Peepy,  this  is  most  important." 


io6  PETER  PARAGON 

One  of  the  Dundoons,  more  alive  to  the  posi- 
tion than  the  rest,  hastily  pushed  his  leader  from 
the  room.  Already  the  other  men  had  discreetly 
vanished. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  Dundoon  protested. 

"  Come  out  of  it,  you  fool,"  whispered  the  man 
of  tact.  "  Don't  you  see  you're  making  it  awk- 
ward for  Peepy?" 

"Awkward  for  Peepy?"  said  Dundoon  very 
audibly.  "  Why  is  it  awkward  for  Peepy?  " 

The  Junior  Prior  went  scarlet  under  Peter's 
dancing  eyes. 

"  Your  room  seems  to  have  suffered,"  he  dimly 
smiled.  "  I  must  look  to  Dundoon,"  and  he  dived 
hastily  into  the  passage.  Peter  heard  a  sharp 
scuffle.  He  saw,  in  his  mind's  eye,  the  embar- 
rassed man  of  authority  forcing  his  tactless  crony 
from  sight  and  hearing.  He  flung  up  his  hands 
in  glee. 

The  story  did  not  lose  in  Peter's  telling.  Peter 
improved  his  description  as  the  days  went  by. 
"  Awkward  for  Peepy,"  passed  into  the  language. 

The  Paggers,  one  and  all,  decided  that  it  would 
be  extremely  awkward  for  Peepy  if,  after  col- 
lapsing before  Dundoon,  he  should  ever  again 
actively  interfere  with  themselves. 


XVI 

THE  term  drew  to  an  end.  Peter's  boat  went 
head  of  the  river  in  five  bumps.  There  was  a 
large  dinner  in  the  College  hall,  and  a  small  dinner 
of  Peter's  friends  upon  the  following  day.  This 
last  dinner  had  important  consequences.  The 
toasts  were  many,  and  Peter  was  not  a  seasoned 
man.  He  put  vine  leaves  in  his  hair,  and  scarcely 
conscious  of  his  limbs,  danced  lightly  into  Gamaliel 
quadrangle.  It  was  a  dinner  at  Peter's  expense, 
exclusively  of  Paggers;  and  at  one  o'clock  in  the 
morning  they  began  to  do  each  what  his  brain 
imagined. 

Peter  secured  a  beautiful  enamel  bath  which 
belonged  to  Dundoon,  and  for  an  hour  he  could 
not  be  interrupted.  To  sit  in  the  bath  of  Dun- 
doon, and  to  clatter  hideously  from  flight  to  flight 
of  the  stone  steps  of  the  College  hall  was  a  perfect 
experience.  It  never  palled.  Meanwhile  Peter's 
friends  had  discovered  an  open  window  of  the 
buttery,  and  announcements  were  made  to  Peter 
from  time  to  time.  Peter  sat  gravely  in  his  bath 
and  smiled. 

"  Rows  of  chickens  for  the  evening  meal,"  said 
a  man  from  the  deeps  of  the  larder.  The  chickens 
were  handed  out  and  spread  decently  upon  the 
lawn. 

107 


io8  PETER  PARAGON 

Reports  were  made  of  a  wonderful  breakfast 
waiting  to  be  cooked. 

"  How  well  they  provide  for  us,"  said  Peter, 
gazing  upon  rows  of  fish,  joints  of  beef  and  mut- 
ton, hams  and  sides  of  bacon.  Then  Peter  stood 
up  in  his  bath  and  prophesied: 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said.  "  All  kinds  of  food 
grow  upon  trees  of  the  field.  I  should  not  be  at 
all  surprised — "  He  broke  off,  sunk  in  contem- 
plation of  a  spreading  elm. 

Then  he  again  carried  his  bath  to  the  head  of 
the  steps,  and  his  friends  were  busy  for  the  next 
half  hour.  At  the  end  of  that  time  the  trees  were 
heavy  with  strange  fruit. 

Peter  was  then  invited  to  join  in  a  choral  dance; 
but  he  would  not  leave  his  bath. 

He  felt  a  sudden  need  for  violent  rhythm,  and 
began  heavily  to  beat  the  bath  of  Dundoon. 

Windows  were  flung  up,  and  protesting  shouts 
were  heard  from  sleepy  men  in  garments  hastily 
caught  up.  The  Junior  Prior,  who  had  as  long  as 
possible  refrained,  saw  he  must  intervene.  He 
flung  on  a  few  necessary  clothes  and  issued  from 
his  turret. 

Peter  lay  directly  in  his  path.  He  paused 
irresolutely  at  the  foot  of  the  steps. 

'  Mr.  Paragon." 

The  Junior  Prior  asserted  his  authority  with 
misgiving. 

"Sir?" 

"  Go  to  your  rooms." 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  109 

Peter  descended  the  steps  unsteadily.  Then  he 
stopped,  looking  wistfully  towards  his  bath.  It 
was  too  much.  He  began  to  climb  back  again. 

"  Mr.  Paragon,"  repeated  the  Junior  Prior. 

"Sir?" 

"  Need  you  do  that  again?  " 

"  This,"  objected  Peter  with  the  faintest  parody 
of  Dundoon,  "  is  most  important." 

The  Junior  Prior  was  seen  to  flush  in  the  lamp- 
light. 

"  Mr.  Paragon,  come  down!  " 

Peter  sighed  and  again  started  to  descend.  He 
missed  a  step  and  fell  rudely  towards  the  Junior 
Prior,  who  stepped  back  to  receive  him.  But  the 
Junior  Prior  caught  his  slippered  heel  in  a  low 
iron  railing  that  skirted  the  lawn,  and  fell  with 
his  legs  in  the  air.  Peter,  caught  by  the  parapet, 
gazed  thoughtfully  at  the  legs  of  the  Junior  Prior. 

The  Junior  Prior  was  loosely  clad.  He  had  put 
his  legs  hastily  into  a  pair  of  trousers,  kept  in  place 
by  the  last  abdominal  button.  Disordered  by  his 
sudden  fall,  the  ends  of  the  trousers  projected 
beyond  his  feet. 

Everything  happened  in  a  moment.  Peter  saw 
his  enemy  delivered  up.  His  bland  good-fellow- 
ship of  the  evening  surrendered  to  Berseker  rage. 
He  stooped,  and  in  a  flash  caught  hold  of  the  loose 
ends  of  the  trousers.  Unconscious  of  his  enor- 
mous strength,  he  pulled  sharp  and  wild.  The 
button  gave  with  a  snap,  and  Peter,  staggered  for 
a  moment  by  the  recoil,  was  next  seen  rushing  up 


no  PETER  PARAGON 

the  lawn,  a  strange  banner  streaming  about  his 
head. 

Peter's  friends  were  awed  into  silence.  The 
ceremony  which  so  largely  figured  in  conversation 
at  Gamaliel  had  at  last  been  performed,  and  it 
had  been  performed  on  the  Junior  Prior. 

Peter,  in  mad  rush,  came  upon  a  meditative 
figure.  The  Warden,  working  late  into  the  night, 
was  at  last  disturbed.  He  had  arrived  in  time  to 
see  Peter  staggering  back  from  a  recumbent  figure 
in  the  middle  distance.  He  watched  Peter  in  his 
furious  career  down  the  lawn,  and  saw  Peter's 
miserable  victim  glimmer  hastily  away  into  the 
far  turret.  The  Warden  was  not  ignorant  of 
College  politics.  He  already  suspected  that  this 
was  no  ordinary  achievement. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Paragon,"  he  said  as  Peter  forged 
into  view.  "  Are  these  your  property?  " 

He  caught  at  the  trousers,  and  Peter,  struck 
comparatively  sober,  decided  to  temporise. 

"  They  are  not  my  property,  sir.  They  are, 
f-f-th'  moment,  borrowed." 

Peter  felt  very  politic  and  clever. 

"  Who  is  the  owner  of  this  property?"  asked 
the  Warden. 

"  I'm  sorry,  sir,  but  I  cannot  tell." 

Peter  was  beginning  to  feel  how  impossible  it 
was  to  face  the  fact  that  he  had  removed  the 
trousers  of  the  Junior  Prior.  He  could  not  tell 
the  Warden.  It  seemed  indelicate.  He  wanted 
to  cover  the  shame  of  his  victim. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  in 

"  You  know,  of  course,  to  whom  this  property 
belongs?  "  the  Warden  persisted. 

1  Yes,  sir." 

"  But  you  refuse  to  say." 

Peter  was  struck  miserably  silent.  He  did  not 
like  to  deny  the  Warden,  but  he  could  not  utter 
the  outrage  he  had  committed. 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  Warden.  "  I  will  im- 
pound the  property.  Doubtless  it  will  be  claimed." 

He  quietly  took  possession  of  the  trousers  and 
turned  to  go. 

"  Mr.  Paragon." 

"Yes,  sir?" 

"  I  rely  on  you  to  see  that  the  College  is  in  bed 
within  the  next  ten  minutes.  I  shall  send  for  you 
in  the  morning.  Good  night." 

"  Good  night,  sir." 

Peter  soberly  reported  the  interview  to  his 
friends,  and  they  decided  to  sleep. 

Already  the  zest  was  beginning  to  go  out  of 
life.  A  comfortless  grey  light  was  beginning  to 
peer  dimly  at  the  hanging  burden  of  the  trees. 

Peter  sat  wake  fully  at  his  window.  His  revolt 
against  the  discipline  of  Gamaliel  came  merely  to 
this  —  that  he  had  removed  the  trousers  of  the 
Junior  Prior.  He  had  been  noisy  and  foolish, 
and  it  had  seemed  the  best  joke  in  the  world  that 
his  friends  should  give  the  laborious  College  serv- 
ants at  least  an  hour's  extra  work  to  do  in  the 
morning.  A  large  side  of  bacon  hanging  gro- 
tesquely in  the  pale  light  intolerably  mocked  him 


H2  PETER  PARAGON 

from  the  noble  elm  beside  his  window.  He  felt 
very  old  and  tired.  In  the  morning  he  was  sum- 
moned to  the  Warden's  house.  The  Warden  met 
him  seriously,  as  though,  Peter  thought,  he  in- 
stinctively knew  how  to  make  him  ashamed. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Paragon,  the  property  has  been 
identified." 

"  I'm  sorry,  sir." 

"  I,  too,  am  sorry,  Mr.  Paragon.  You  are  sent 
down  for  the  remaining  days  of  the  term,  and  I 
shall  seriously  have  to  consider  whether  I  can 
allow  you  to  come  back  after  the  vacation.  I 
suppose  you  realise  that  the  discipline  of  the  Col- 
lege must  be  observed?  " 

1  Yes,  sir." 

i{  The  Junior  Prior,"  the  Warden  continued 
with  perfect  gravity,  "  has  been  offered  an  im- 
portant post  in  a  Japanese  university.  Perhaps 
he  will  accept  it.  He  desires  to  study  the  refrac- 
tion of  light  in  tropical  atmospheres.  It  may 
therefore  be  possible  for  you  to  join  us  again  next 
term.  Otherwise  I  am  afraid  we  shall  have  to 
strike  you  from  the  books.  I  think  you  under- 
stand the  position,  Mr.  Paragon?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Peter  cut  short  his  friends  when  they  asked  for 
an  account  of  his  roasting. 

*  The  Wuggins,"  he  said  emphatically,  "  is  a 
big  man.  I'm  going  down  by  the  seven-forty  to 
Hamingburgh." 

Peter  wanted  to  get  away  without  fuss,  but  the 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  113 

Paggers  would  not  hear  of  it.  It  was  decided 
there  must  be  a  procession  to  the  railway  station. 
All  the  folly  had  gone  out  of  Peter,  but  he  was 
now  helplessly  a  hero. 

The  procession  started  from  the  College  gates. 
Fifty  hansom-cabs,  decorated  with  purple  crape, 
formed  up  under  the  Warden's  windows.  The 
town  band  was  hired  to  play  a  solemn  march. 
Peter,  compelled  to  bear  the  principal  part  in  a 
joke  which  he  no  longer  appreciated,  was  borne 
to  the  leading  cab  pale  with  mortification.  The 
slow  journey  to  the  station  seemed  interminable. 
All  Oxford  was  grinning  from  the  creeping  pave- 
ment. At  last  the  station  was  reached.  Peter 
leaped  from  duress,  heartily  cursed  his  friends, 
and,  safe  at  last  in  the  train,  began  to  wonder  how 
his  uncle  would  receive  him. 

The  Warden  of  Gamaliel  had  watched  Peter's 
funeral  procession  from  behind  the  curtains  of  his 
window.  He  smiled  as  he  saw  Peter  borne  forth, 
clearly  reflecting  in  his  expressive  young  face  an 
ineffectual  dislike  of  his  notoriety.  The  Warden 
turned  from  the  window  as  the  strains  of  a  solemn 
march  weakened  along  the  street.  He  smiled 
again  that  day  at  odd  times,  but  sometimes  he 
pressed  his  lips  together  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Peter  Paragon  is  a  good  boy,"  he  told  the 
Fellows  at  dinner,  "  but  I  don't  in  the  least  know 
what  we  are  going  to  do  with  him." 


XVII 

PETER  spent  the  vacation  at  home  solidly  reading 
and  digesting  without  enthusiasm  the  Oxford 
books.  He  soon  heard  from  his  friends  that  the 
Junior  Prior  had  vanished,  and  that  he  himself 
would  be  invited  to  return.  He  spent  his  days 
regularly  between  classical  literature  for  a  task 
and  modern  literature  for  pleasure. 

Mrs.  Paragon  gravely  listened  to  Peter's  story 
of  his  indiscipline.  She  did  not,  of  course,  find  it 
in  any  way  ridiculous.  She  brooded  upon  it  as 
evidence  of  Peter's  abounding  life,  and  she  in- 
stinctively trembled.  Peter's  energy  was  begin- 
ning to  be  dangerous. 

Peter's  uncle  flung  up  his  great  head  and 
laughed.  He  made  Peter,  to  Peter's  rage,  recur 
to  the  story  again  and  again,  asking  for  unspeak- 
able details.  His  red  face  shone  and  twinkled. 
He  roared  with  delight. 

In  the  middle  of  the  vacation  the  author  who 
first  had  stirred  Peter  to  intellectual  enthusiasm 
came  to  Hamingburgh,  and  talked  Socialism  to  a 
local  branch  of  the  Superior  Socialists.  Peter  was 
wrought  to  so  high  an  admiration  of  the  art  with 
which  the  great  man  handled  his  audience,  by 
the  clarity,  vigour,  and  wit  of  his  speaking,  that 
he  dared  at  the  end  to  ask  publicly  some  very  perti- 
nent and  searching  questions.  The  speaker  could 

H4 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  115 

not  answer  him  immediately;  but  afterwards  prom- 
ised to  write  to  Peter  if  Peter  would  remind  him. 

Peter  thus  became  one  of  the  fortunate  corre- 
spondents of  an  author  whose  private  letters  were 
better  than  his  published  works.  Before  he  re- 
turned to  Oxford  he  already  had  a  small  pile, 
thumbed  with  continuous  reading. 

Peter  acquitted  himself  reasonably  to  the  satis- 
faction of  his  masters  when  he  returned  to 
Gamaliel.  He  wrote  without  vigour  or  interest, 
but  his  grim  industry  saved  him  from  absolute 
failure.  All  through  the  term  he  stuck  hard  at 
the  necessary  books,  and  trained  hard  for  the 
summer  eights.  His  spare  energy  now  went  into 
socialist  oratory,  blue  books,  and  public  speaking. 
He  made  sudden  appearances  at  the  Oxford 
Union,  cutting  into  the  debates  with  ferocious 
contempt  for  the  politics  there  discussed.  To 
Peter  the  world  was  very  wrong,  and  it  seemed 
easy  to  put  it  right.  He  denounced  the  imbecility 
of  the  party  game  —  played  in  the  midst  of  so 
much  urgently  calling  to  be  done.  He  drowned 
his  audiences  in  terrible  figures  and  unanswerable 
economy.  He  extirpated  landlords  and  de- 
stroyed wagery.  He  abolished  the  oldest  pro- 
fession in  the  world  as  accidental  to  a  society 
badly  run.  Peter  became  famous  as  an  orator. 
It  was  confidently  said  that  next  term  he  would 
be  given  a  place  on  the  Committee  of  the  Union. 
One  evening  he  was  taken  by  the  Proctors, 
prophesying  from  a  cart  in  the  Broad.  He  was 


n6  PETER  PARAGON 

fined,  ostensibly  for  appearing  ungowned  in  the 
streets  at  an  unlawful  hour. 

Peter's  access  of  political  fervour  was  aggra- 
vated this  term  by  an  unfortunate  accident.  He 
sprained  a  tendon  of  his  leg,  and  had  to  drop  out 
of  the  boat  a  few  days  before  the  races.  The 
effect  of  this  physical  relaxation  was  to  increase 
his  energy  for  discontent.  For  several  blissful 
days  he  lay  upon  his  back  in  a  punt  upon  the  Char, 
happy  to  be  lazy,  to  breathe  the  heavy  scent  of 
hawthorn,  to  be  rocked  by  noises  of  water  and  of 
voices  over  the  water.  Then  he  began  to  dream ; 
and  blue  books  marched  in  the  avenues  of  his 
brain,  mocking  the  elaborate  idleness  of  the  after- 
noon. The  week  itself  of  the  races  forced  once 
again  upon  his  imagination  the  contrasts  he  had 
seen  in  London.  The  merry  pageant  of  the 
river,  brilliant  with  summer  dresses;  the  pleasant 
evening  parties  at  the  Old  Mitre  where  his  mother 
and  uncle  were  staying;  everywhere  an  expensive 
and  careless  life  accepted  as  normal  —  these 
things  were  bright  against  a  dark  background  of 
neglect  and  oppression.  Peter  was  now  a  very 
serious  young  man. 

His  brooding  at  this  time  was  only  lightened 
during  the  summer  week  by  the  presence  in  Oxford 
of  his  mother  and  uncle.  There  was  much  to  ar- 
range and  to  observe.  Peter  had  been  afraid  of 
his  uncle.  How  would  his  uncle  behave  among 
the  Oxford  people?  Peter  was  not  really  happy 
until  he  had  dined  very  near  Dundoon  and  his 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  117 

party.  The  father  of  Dundoon  was  a  nobleman 
with  10,000  acres  of  urban  land.  Yet,  Peter  cyni- 
cally reflected,  you  could  scarcely  distinguish  him 
from  Uncle  Henry.  He,  too,  had  a  large  red 
face,  ate  with  more  heartiness  than  delicacy,  and 
talked  in  an  accent  entirely  his  own.  Peter 
breathed  more  freely.  Instinctively  he  began  a 
peroration  as  to  aristocracy  true  and  false,  with 
interpolated  calculations  as  to  the  possible  un- 
earned increment  upon  10,000  acres  conveniently 
near  London. 

Uncle  Henry,  of  course,  had  to  be  shown  ex- 
actly where  the  Junior  Prior  had  fallen ;  and  Peter 
had  to  stand  by,  embarrassed  and  fuming,  while 
Uncle  Henry  rehearsed  the  scene  in  pantomime. 

Peter  was  proud  and  glad  to  see  how  rapidly 
his  friends  came  to  praise  and  admire  his  mother. 
They  instinctively  felt  her  strength  and  peace. 
They  began  at  once  to  confide  in  her,  though  her 
answers  were  rarely  of  more  than  one  syllable. 
Of  all  Peter's  friends  Lord  Marbury  liked  her  best. 

Marbury  was  at  this  time  Peter's  nearest  friend 
at  Gamaliel.  Peter  had  met  Marbury  only  this 
last  term.  He  had  one  day  sat  next  to  a  stranger 
at  dinner.  Finding  the  stranger  to  be  a  man  of 
excellent  intelligence  Peter  had  begun  vigorously 
to  denounce  the  aristocracy  of  England.  The 
stranger  had  mildly  protested  that  English  lords 
were  rather  more  various  in  character  than  Peter 
supposed,  and  that  perhaps  they  had  a  use  in  poli- 
tics and  society.  Peter  contested  this,  overwhelm- 


n8  PETER  PARAGON 

ing  his  new  friend  with  facts,  figures,  arguments, 
and  devices  for  buying  out  all  the  vested  interests 
of  the  nobility  at  a  reasonable  figure.  Two  days 
after,  at  a  college  ceremony  which  required  the 
men  to  answer  to  their  names,  Peter  heard  with 
distaste  that  a  new  title  was  being  called.  He 
looked  contemptuously  round,  and  to  his  dismay 
saw  his  new  friend  rise  in  answer.  Marbury 
smiled  pleasantly  at  Peter  and  chaffed  him  in  the 
best  of  humour. 

The  friendship  rapidly  grew.  Marbury  was  all 
that  a  man  of  lively  interest  and  fancy  can  be  who 
has  mixed  from  a  boy  with  polite  citizens  of  the 
world.  He  knew  all  that  Peter  had  yet  to  learn; 
but  Peter's  world  of  ideas  attracted  him  as  a  coun- 
try unexplored.  Peter  less  consciously  drew  to- 
wards Marbury  as  one  who  seemed,  in  all  but 
purely  intellectual  things,  unaccountably  wise.  He 
really  felt  the  curb  of  Marbury's  knowledge  of 
things  as  they  are,  whereas  Marbury  delighted  in 
Peter's  enthusiasm  for  things  as  they  should  be. 

Marbury's  charm  for  Peter  rested,  too,  upon 
his  ability  to  talk  in  a  perfectly  natural  and  unaf- 
fected way  of  intimate  and  simple  things.  Mar- 
bury  at  once  declared  his  pleasure  in  Peter's 
mother.  His  own  people  had  not  come  to  Oxford 
for  the  races,  and  he  devoted  himself  almost  en- 
tirely to  Mrs.  Paragon. 

"  It's  pleasant  just  to  carry  her  mackintosh,"  he 
said  to  Peter  one  evening  after  they  had  come  from 
the  hotel. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  119 

"  I'm  glad  you  like  her." 

"  Like  her?  "  protested  Marbury.  "  Don't  be 
inadequate.  She  is  simply  wonderful." 

Peter  asked  himself  how  Marbury  had  discov- 
ered this. 

'  What  have  you  been  talking  about  all  the  even- 
ing? "  he  inquired. 

"  I  haven't  the  least  idea.     Mostly  nonsense." 

'  Then  how  do  you  know  she  is  wonderful  ?  " 

"  Peter,"  said  Marbury,  "  sometimes  you  annoy 
me.  It's  true  that  I  haven't  the  least  idea  what 
your  mother  thinks  about  the  English  aristocracy 
or  George  Meredith.  I  simply  know  that  your 
mother  is  wonderful." 

Peter  leant  eagerly  forward: 

"  I  understand  how  you  feel." 

"  Good,"  jerked  Marbury.  "  I'm  glad  you  are 
not  quite  insensible." 

He  looked  reflectively  at  Peter,  and  continued: 

"  I  am  almost  hopeful  about  you  now  that  I've 
met  your  mother.  I  cannot  help  feeling  there 
must  be  some  sanity  in  you  somewhere.  But 
where  did  you  get  all  your  nonsense?  " 

"  My  father  was  shot  down  in  the  street,"  said 
Peter  briefly. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  Marbury  after  a  pause.  "  I 
did  not  know." 

The  summer  races  were  run  to  an  end,  and  only 
three  weeks  of  term  remained.  Peter,  physically 
unemployed,  accumulated  stores  of  energy.  He 
became  insufferably  violent  in  conversation,  and 


120  PETER  PARAGON 

Marbury,  after  telling  him  to  put  his  head  in  ice, 
said  he  would  have  no  more  to  do  with  him  till  he 
no  longer  addressed  his  friends  as  if  they  were  a 
public  meeting. 

That  Peter  did  not  that  term  fly  into  flat  re- 
bellion was  due  to  a  lack  of  opportunity.  For  a 
similar  reason  he  continued  to  get  through  another 
year  between  Oxford  and  Hamingburgh.  His 
weeks  at  home  with  his  mother  were  like  deep 
pools  of  a  stream  between  troubled  reaches.  At 
Oxford  Marbury,  with  his  imperturbable  sanity 
and  good  humour,  kept  him  a  little  in  check.  They 
were  inseparable.  Peter  would  not  again  go  on 
the  river.  He  bought  a  horse  and  rode  with  Mar- 
bury  through  the  winter  and  spring  in  the  country 
about  Oxford,  or  sailed  with  him  in  the  desolate 
river  beyond  Port  Meadow.  Meantime  he  gored 
at  his  books  like  an  angry  bull,  was  the  favourite 
hot  gospeller  of  the  Oxford  Socialists,  and  was 
elected  Secretary  of  the  Union  as  an  independent 
candidate  —  a  fact  recorded  with  misguided  en- 
thusiasm in  the  Labour  press.  Peter's  first  sum- 
mer term  was  the  model  of  the  two  which  fol- 
lowed; and  his  second  summer  term  might  harm- 
lessly have  passed  like  the  first  had  not  Marbury 
been  called  away.  Marbury  was  his  uncle's  heir, 
and  his  uncle  was  not  expected  to  live  through  the 
year.  Henceforth  Marbury  would  have  to  spend 
most  of  his  time  upon  his  uncle's  estate.  Thus, 
in  the  singing  month  of  May,  and  in  his  second 
year,  Peter  was  left  unbridled. 


XVIII 

MARBURY  had  been  away  for  three  weeks  when 
Peter  was  arrested  one  morning  by  a  placard  out- 
side the  Oxford  theatre.  A  play  was  announced 
by  a  young  dramatist  who  followed  the  lead  of 
Peter's  acknowledged  master.  Peter  knew  the 
play  well,  knew  it  was  finer  in  quality  than  the  ma- 
jority of  plays  performed  in  London  or  elsewhere. 
There  had  been  preliminary  difficulties  with  the 
Censor  as  to  the  licensing  of  this  play,  but  in  the 
end  it  had  been  passed  for  public  performance  — 
not  until  the  intellectual  press  had  exhaustively 
discussed  the  absurdities  implied  in  the  Censor's 
hesitation.  Peter  knew  by  heart  all  the  arguments 
for  and  against  the  Censorship  of  plays.  Musi- 
cal comedy  and  French  farce  ruled  at  the  Oxford 
theatre  —  productions  which  Peter  had  publicly 
denounced  as  intentionally  offered  for  the  encour- 
agement of  an  ancient  profession.  He  was,  there- 
fore, agreeably  pleased  to  read  the  announcement 
of  a  play  morally  edifying  and  intellectually  bril- 
liant. 

But  two  days  later  a  mild  sensation  fluttered 
the  gossips  of  North  Oxford  and  splashed  into  the 
conversation  of  the  Common  rooms.  The  Vice- 
gerent of  the  University,  who  had  an  absolute 
veto  upon  performances  at  the  Oxford  theatre, 

121 


122  PETER  PARAGON 

suddenly  decided  that  the  play  must  not  be  pre- 
sented. 

Peter  heard  the  news  at  dinner.  For  the  re- 
maining weeks  of  the  term  he  was  a  raging 
prophet.  Too  excited  to  eat,  he  left  the  table  and 
walked  under  the  trees,  smouldering  with  plans  for 
exposing  this  foolish  and  complacent  tyranny. 

First  he  would  exhaust  clearly  and  forcibly  upon 
paper  its  thousand  absurdities.  Peter  wrote  far 
into  the  night,  caught  in  a  frenzy  of  inspired  logic. 
Having  argued  his  position  point  by  point,  having 
rooted  it  firm  in  reason,  morality,  and  justice,  he 
flung  loose  the  rein  of  his  indignation.  He  ended 
by  the  first  light  of  day,  and  read  over  his  com- 
position in  a  glow  of  accomplishment.  Surely  this 
conspiracy  must  collapse  in  a  shout  of  laughter. 

He  took  his  MS.  to  a  friend  who  at  that  time 
was  editing  the  principal  undergraduate  magazine. 
Half  an  hour  later  he  returned  to  his  room  gleam- 
ing with  fresh  anger.  His  friend  had  refused  to 
publish  his  MS.,  saying  it  was  too  rude,  and  that 
he  did  not  want  to  draw  the  evil  eye  of  authority. 
Peter  called  him  coward,  and  shook  his  fist  under 
the  editorial  nose. 

In  the  evening  he  arranged  with  a  local  pub- 
lisher to  print  a  thousand  copies  in  pamphlet  form. 
Later  he  attended  a  seminar  class  under  the  Vice- 
gerent, and  at  the  end  of  the  hour  waited  to  speak 
with  him. 

"Well,  Mr.  Paragon?" 

Peter  was  outwardly  calm,  but  for  sixty  inter- 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  123 

minable  minutes  he  had  boiled  with  impatient 
anger. 

"  Sir,  I  wish  to  resign  from  the  seminar." 

The  Vicegerent  detected  a  tremor  of  suppressed 
excitement.  He  looked  keenly  at  Peter. 

;<  What  are  your  reasons?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  need  more  time  for  private  reading." 

"  For  example?  " 

"  I  am  interested  in  the  modern  theatre." 

Peter  had  intended  merely  to  resign.  He  had 
not  intended  to  offer  reasons.  But  he  could  not 
resist  this.  The  words  shot  rudely  and  clumsily 
out  of  him. 

The  Vicegerent  saw  a  light  in  Peter's  eye.  He 
was  a  man  of  humour,  and  he  smiled. 

"  H'm.  This,  I  take  it,  is  a  sort  of  challenge?  " 
he  said. 

"  It  is  a  protest,"  Peter  suggested. 

The  Vicegerent  twinkled,  and  Peter  helplessly 
chafed.  The  Vicegerent  put  a  gentle  hand  upon 
his  arm. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Paragon,  I'm  sorry  your  protest 
has  taken  this  particular  form.  I  shall  be  sorry 
to  lose  you.  However,  your  protest  seems  to  be 
quite  in  order.  So  I  suppose  you  are  at  liberty  to 
make  it." 

"  And  to  publish  my  reasons?  "  Peter  flared. 

"  I  have  published  mine,"  smiled  the  Vicegerent. 

He  took  up  a  copy  of  the  Oxford  magazine, 
underlined  a  brief  passage  in  blue  pencil,  and 
handed  it  to  Peter.  Peter  read : 


i24  PETER  PARAGON 

"  The  Vicegerent  has  decided  that  Gingerbread 
Fair  is  not  a  suitable  play  for  performance  at  the 
Oxford  Theatre.  He  does  not  think  the  moral 
of  the  play  is  one  that  can  suitably  be  offered  to 
an  audience  of  young  people.  It  will  be  remem- 
bered that  this  play  was  licensed  by  the  Lord 
Chamberlain  only  after  serious  consideration  of  its 
ethical  purport." 

Peter  choked. 
'  These  are  not  reasons,"  he  flamed. 

"  Mr.  Paragon,"  said  the  Vicegerent,  "  this  is 
not  for  discussion." 

Peter  dropped  the  magazine  upon  the  table  be- 
tween them  and  went  from  the  room  without  a 
word. 

The  Paggers  joyfully  roared  when  Peter's 
pamphlet  issued  from  the  press.  Peter  had  im- 
proved it  in  proof  with  an  Appendix,  wherein, 
helped  by  his  learned  friends,  he  presented  an 
anthology  of  indecorous  passages  collected  from 
classical  texts  recommended  for  study  by  the  Ex- 
aminers. Peter  explained  to  the  world  that  the 
young  people  whose  minds  must  not  be  contam- 
inated by  Gingerbread  Fair  would  in  default  of  its 
performance  spend  the  evening  with  masterpieces 
by  Aristophanes,  Petronius,  and  Ovid  of  the 
"  ethical  purport  "  indicated  in  the  cited  examples. 

Peter  posted  a  copy  of  his  pamphlet  to  every 
resident  Master  of  Arts  in  Oxford,  and  awaited 
the  result.  He  expected  at  least  to  rank  with 
Shelley  in  conspicuous  and  reputable  martyrdom. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  125 

But  nothing  happened.  The  Warden  met  him 
with  the  usual  friendly  smile.  The  Vicegerent 
nodded  to  him  affably  in  the  Corn  Market.  They 
did  not  seem  to  have  suffered  any  rude  or  shatter- 
ing experience.  The  walls  of  learning  stood  yet, 
solemn  and  grey. 

Words,  it  seemed,  were  wasted.  Reason  was 
of  no  account.  Peter  was  resolved  somehow  to 
be  noticed.  He  would  break  down  this  cynical 
indifference  of  authority  to  truth  and  humour. 

Upon  the  morning  when  Gingerbread  Fair 
should  first  have  been  performed  in  Oxford,  Peter 
saw  its  place  upon  the  placards  taken  by  a  play 
from  London.  The  picture  of  a  young  woman 
in  lace  knickerbockers  was  evidence  that  the  play 
would  abound  in  precisely  that  sort  of  indecency 
which,  as  Peter  had  proved  in  his  pamphlet,  must 
necessarily  flourish  in  a  Censor-ridden  theatre. 
That  this  kind  of  play  should,  by  authority,  be  en- 
couraged at  the  expense  of  the  new,  clean  drama 
of  the  militant  men  whom  Peter  loved,  pricked 
him  to  the  point  of  delirium.  He  then  and  there 
resolved  that  the  day  should  end  in  riot. 

The  Paggers  were  ready.  They  cared  not  a 
straw  for  Peter's  principles;  but,  when  he  sug- 
gested that  the  play  at  the  Oxford  theatre  should 
be  arrested,  they  rented  four  stage-boxes  and 
waited  for  the  word.  Peter,  at  urgent  speed,  had 
leaflets  printed,  in  which  were  briefly  set  forth  the 
grounds  on  which  the  men  of  Oxford  protested 
against  a  change  of  bill  which  substituted  the 


126  PETER  PARAGON 

woman  in  knickerbockers  for  Gingerbread  Fair. 
The  play  dragged  on.  Peter  waited  for  the  bed- 
room, and  with  grim  patience  watched  the  gradual 
undressing  of  the  principal  lady.  He  intended  to 
make  a  speech. 

The  interruption  came  sooner  than  Peter  in- 
tended. He  was  about  to  scatter  his  leaflets  and 
leap  to  the  stage  when  an  outrageous  innuendo 
from  one  of  the  actors  inspired  a  small  demonstra- 
tion from  some  Paggers  in  the  pit. 

"  Isn't  it  shocking?"  said  a  voice  in  an  awed, 
but  audible,  undertone. 

"  Order!  order  1  "  shouted  some  people  of  the 
town. 

There  were  counter-cries  of  "  Shame !  "  and  in 
a  moment  the  theatre  was  in  an  uproar.  Peter 
scattered  his  leaflets  with  a  magnificent  gesture 
and  jumped  on  to  the  stage.  The  Paggers  tum- 
bled out  of  their  boxes,  arrested  the  stage  man- 
ager in  the  act  of  lowering  the  curtain,  and  began 
to  carry  off  the  stage  properties  as  lawful  spoil. 

Peter  had  counted  on  being  able  to  make  a 
speech  —  to  explain  his  position  with  dignity.  He 
did  not  know  how  quickly  an  uproar  can  be  raised. 
Also  he  had  reckoned  without  the  Paggers.  They 
wanted  fun. 

When  it  was  over  Peter  remembered  best  the 
frightened  eyes  of  the  woman  on  the  stage.  For 
no  reason  at  all  madness  had  burst  into  the  thea- 
tre. She  heard  a  great  noise,  and  saw  Peter 
with  a  gleaming  face  leap  towards  her.  She 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  127 

screamed,  and  continued  screaming,  but  her  voice 
was  lost. 

Meantime  her  husband  and  manager,  inferring 
that  his  wife  had  been  insulted,  came  rushing  from 
the  wings. 

Peter  vainly  trying  to  make  himself  heard,  sud- 
denly felt  a  violent  push  in  the  back.  He  turned 
and  saw  a  furious  man,  apparently  speaking,  but 
his  words  were  drowned.  This  man  all  at  once 
hit  Peter  in  the  face. 

Peter  forgot  all  about  the  Censor,  and  shot  out 
hard  with  his  left.  The  man  went  down.  Peter 
noticed  that  more  than  one  person  was  rolling  on 
the  floor. 

Seeing  another  member  of  the  player's  company 
before  him  with  a  lifted  fist  he  hit  him  hard  on  the 
jaw.  This  man  fell  away,  and  Peter  prepared  to 
hit  another.  Then  he  noticed  that  the  next  man 
to  be  hit  was  a  policeman;  also  that  the  Paggers 
were  climbing  hastily  back  into  their  boxes  loaded 
with  booty.  He  started  after  them,  but,  as  he 
was  stepping  over  a  prostrate  carcase,  the  carcase 
gripped  him  by  the  leg.  He  fell  to  the  stage  with 
a  crash,  knocking  his  head  violently  on  the  boards. 

When  Peter  came  to  himself  he  was  in  the  open 
air.  The  police  were  disputing  for  his  body  with 
the  Senior  Proctor.  He  sat  up  and  felt  his  head. 
By  this  time  the  Senior  Proctor  had  established 
his  rights  of  jurisdiction,  and  the  police,  leaving 
Peter  to  the  University,  departed. 

When  Peter  was  able  to  stand,  he  confessed  his 


128  PETER  PARAGON 

name  and  accepted  a  summons  to  appear  before 
the  Vicegerent  in  his  court  of  justice.  He  then 
went  back  to  Gamaliel. 

The  Paggers  were  assembled  in  his  room  when 
he  returned,  telling  stories  of  the  evening  and  di- 
viding the  spoil.  There  was  eager  competition 
for  some  of  the  articles,  more  especially  for  per- 
sonal property  of  the  principal  lady.  All  such 
garments  as  she  had  already  discarded  had  been 
thoughtfully  secured.  They  lay  in  a  fascinating 
heap  upon  Peter's  rug.  It  had  just  been  decided, 
when  Peter  arrived,  that  they  should  be  knocked 
down  to  the  highest  bidder,  and  that  the  proceeds 
should  be  handed  over  to  the  college  chaplain  for 
charitable  uses. 

At  sight  of  Peter  these  proceedings  were  inter- 
rupted. It  was  admitted  that  Peter  had  first 
claim. 

"  Peter,"  they  said,  "  has  suffered." 

"  I  have  an  idea,"  said  a  man  from  the  colonies. 
"  I  know  what  Peter  would  like  to  do." 

Peter  was  racked  with  headache,  and  sick  with 
a  sense  of  futility. 

"  Shut  up,  you  fools,"  he  growled  at  them. 

"  Peter  is  ungrateful  after  all  we  have  done  for 
him;  but  we  know  what  Peter  would  like  to  do 
with  these  pretty  things.  He  would  like  to  wrap 
them  up  in  a  parcel,  and  send  them  to  St.  James1 
Palace.  Won't  the  Lord  Chamberlain  be  sur- 
prised ?  We  will  enclose  a  schedule  —  List  of 
Garments  Discarded  by  Principal  Lady  under  the 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  129 

Aegis  of  the  Lord  Chamberlain  at  the  Oxford 
Theatre  on  the  Fourteenth  Instant." 

"  There  cannot  be  a  schedule,"  said  another 
wag.  "  How  are  we  to  name  these  pretty 
things?" 

"  Our  definitions  will  be  arbitrary.  Here,  for 
instance,  is  a  charming  trifle,  fragrant  as  flowers  in 
April.  Mark  it  down  as  4A  Transparency  — 
Precise  Function  Unknown.'  " 

"  Camisole,"  suggested  a  voice. 

;<  Will  the  expert  kindly  come  forward?  " 

It  seemed  hours  before  Peter,  after  much  per- 
functory ribaldry,  was  left  alone  with  his  remorse. 
The  little  heap  of  white  garments  accused  him 
from  the  table  of  rowdiness  and  vulgarity.  They 
filled  his  room  with  the  scent  of  violets,  and  he  re- 
membered now  the  eyes  of  the  woman  he  had  so 
rudely  frightened. 

In  the  immediate  future  he  saw  the  red  tape  of 
being  formally  sent  down  —  a  grave  reprimand 
from  the  authorities,  twinkling  amusement  from 
the  Warden.  They  would  treat  him  like  a  child. 
Had  he  not  behaved  like  a  child?  All  his  fine 
passion  had  turned  to  ridicule.  Peter,  solitary  in 
his  room,  found  comfort  in  one  thought  alone. 
The  world  was  waiting  for  him  in  London,  where 
he  would  be  received  as  a  man,  and  be  understood 
—  where  passion  and  a  keen  mind  could  be  turned 
to  high  ends  and  worthily  expended.  He  accused 
authority  of  his  excesses,  and  dedicated  himself 
afresh  to  resist  and  discredit  his  rulers.  He  was 


i3o  PETER  PARAGON 

now  a  responsible  revolutionary,  with  a  hard  world 
in  front  of  him  to  be  accused  and  beaten  down. 
He  thought  again  of  his  father  —  now  a  bright 
legend  of  intellectual  revolt. 

Next  day  Peter  listened  quietly  to  all  that  was 
said  to  him,  receiving  as  of  course  an  intimation 
that  he  was  finally  expelled  from  the  College. 
This  time  the  funeral  was  spared.  Peter's  friends 
were  too  busy  packing  for  the  vacation.  His  last 
farewell  was  spoken  on  the  platform  of  Oxford 
station.  Marbury,  returning  for  a  night  to  col- 
lege, hailed  him  as  he  jumped  from  the  cab. 

"  Hullo,  Peter,"  he  said  at  once.  "  You're  a 
famous  man !  " 

"  Don't  rot." 

"  Have  you  seen  the  local  paper?  " 

"Why?" 

"  There  are  some  rather  good  headlines,"  an- 
swered Marbury,  unfolding  the  sheet. 

RAID  UPON  THE  OXFORD  THEATRE 

SUDDEN  UPROAR 

DESTRUCTION  OF  STAGE  PROPERTIES 
PRINCIPAL  LADY  PROSTRATED  WITH  SHOCK 

He  finished  reading,  and  handed  the  paper  to 
Peter. 

'  What  on  earth  have  you  been  doing?  "  he 
asked,  as  Peter  seized  and  devoured  it. 

Peter  ran  his  eye  over  the  lines.  Reported  in 
the  common  form  of  a  local  scribe  it  read  like  a 
drunken  brawl. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  131 

'  Were  you  tight?  "  asked  Marbury  briefly. 

"  No,  I  was  not  tight,"  Peter  snapped.  "  Look 
here,  Marbury,"  he  continued,  "  this  wasn't  a  pic- 
nic. It  was  damn  serious." 

"Serious?" 

"  It  was  a  protest." 

"  This  is  interesting,"  said  Marbury.  "  What 
was  it  about?" 

"  It  was  a  protest,"  Peter  declared  with  high 
dignity,  "  against  the  censorship  of  stage  plays." 

Marbury  looked  at  Peter  for  a  moment.  Then 
went  into  peals  of  laughter.  Peter  looked  at  him 
intending  to  kill. 

"  Don't  be  angry,  Peter.  I  don't  often  laugh. 
But  this  is  funny." 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you." 

"  Peter,  dear  boy,  come  away  from  your  golden 
throne." 

Marbury  smoothed  his  face.  "  I  suppose  this 
means  you're  going  down  for  good." 

"  Thank  Heaven  for  that !  " 

"  Look  me  up  in  London.  I'm  going  down  my- 
self next  term." 

"Sick  of  it?"  asked  Peter. 

"  Not  at  all.  But  my  uncle  is  far  from  well, 
and  I'm  next  man  on  the  estate.  I  have  just  been 
seeing  the  lawyers." 

"  We're  going  different  ways,  Marbury." 

"  Stuff." 

"  I'm  in  the  other  camp,"  Peter  insisted. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Marbury  cheerfully;  "  when 


i32  PETER  PARAGON 

you're  tired  of  the  other  camp  remember  you've  a 
friend  outside.  Good-bye,  and  good-luck." 

Peter  could  not  resist  Marbury's  good  temper. 
He  was  beginning  to  feel  in  the  wrong. 

"  Marbury,"  he  said,  "  why  am  I  always  rude  ?  " 

Marbury  smiled  into  Peter's  lighted  face : 

"  You  were  born  younger  than  most  of  us. 
Meantime,  your  train  is  moving." 

Peter  scrambled  into  a  passing  carriage,  and 
Marbury  threw  his  luggage  in  at  the  window. 

Peter  waved  him  a  friendly  farewell,  and  re- 
tired to  reflect  upon  his  inveterate  want  of  grace. 

Marbury  looked  after  the  train  in  smiling  medi- 
tation. He  expected  to  see  Peter  within  the  year. 
He  rather  enjoyed  the  prospect  of  Peter  loose 
among  the  intellectuals  of  London.  He  knew 
what  these  people  were  like. 


XIX 

UNCLE  HENRY  was  at  first  inclined  to  be  angry 
when  Peter  appeared  for  the  second  time  a  ban- 
ished man.  Peter  wisely  forebore  trying  to  ex- 
plain the  motive  of  his  riot. 

'  The  fact  is,  Uncle,  I  have  had  enough  of 
Oxford,"  he  said. 

"  Oxford  seems  to  have  had  enough  of  you," 
his  uncle  grumbled.  "  I  told  you  to  get  educa- 
tion." 

"  There  isn't  any  education  at  Oxford.  It's  in 
London  now." 

"  What  will  you  do  in  London?  " 

"  I  could  read  for  the  bar,"  Peter  suggested. 

"  Alone  in  London,  eh  ?  I  don't  think  so. 
You  want  a  nursemaid." 

"  Let  the  mater  come  and  keep  house." 

Uncle  Henry  reflected.  "  Peter,"  he  said, 
"  keep  out  of  the  police  court.  I  draw  the  line  at 
that." 

"  I  shall  be  all  right  in  London.  Oxford  an- 
noyed me,  Uncle." 

"  Very  well.     I  leave  it  to  your  mother." 

Peter's  mother  agreed  to  come  to  London  and 
manage  a  small  flat. 

"  I  shall  just  love  to  have  you,  mother,"  Peter 
said  to  her  when  the  plans  were  laid. 

133 


i34  PETER  PARAGON 

"  I  wonder?  "  she  said,  searching  his  face. 

"  You're  not  worried  about  this  Oxford  mess?  " 

"  I'm  thinking,  Peter.  You're  so  terribly  im- 
patient." 

Peter  himself  hunted  out  the  flat  and  furnished 
it. 

"  Let  him  handle  a  bit  of  money,"  his  uncle 
suggested. 

Incidentally  Peter  learned  something  about  the 
housing  of  people  in  London;  something,  too,  of 
agents  and  speculators  in  housing.  Finally  he 
perched  in  Golder's  Green  in  a  small  flat  over  a 
group  of  shops.  The  agent  assured  him  it  was  a 
district  loved  by  literary  and  artistic  people. 

His  mother  quickly  followed  him  to  London 
with  plate  and  linen.  A  maid  was  engaged,  and 
Peter  settled  down  to  happiness  and  comfort. 

His  first  sensations  were  triumphant.  He 
kicked  his  heels.  The  grey  walls  of  Oxford  fell 
away.  He  tramped  the  streets  of  London,  and 
flung  out  the  chest  of  a  free  man.  Moreover,  he 
had  the  zest  of  his  new  employment.  He  broke 
his  young  brains  against  the  subtleties  of  the  law. 

Within  a  few  weeks  he  began  tentatively  to 
know  the  intellectual  firebrands  of  the  time.  He 
had  sent  his  pamphlet  concerning  Gingerbread 
Fair  to  the  distinguished  author  whose  epistolary 
acquaintance  he  had  made  in  Hamingburgh.  The 
great  man,  who  independently  had  heard  the  full 
story  of  Peter's  assault  upon  the  Lord  Chamber- 
lain's stage  at  Oxford,  was  tickled,  and  sent  him 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  135 

an  introduction  to  a  famous  collectivist  pair  whose 
salon  included  everybody  in  London  who  had  a 
theory  and  believed  in  it. 

Peter  met  Georgian  poets,  independent  critics 
and  reviewers,  mystics  of  every  degree,  diagram- 
matic and  futurist  painters,  musicians  who  wrote  in 
pentametric  scales,  social  reformers,  suspected 
dramatists  —  everybody  who  had  proved  anything, 
or  destroyed  anything,  or  knew  how  the  world 
should  be  run;  experts  upon  constitutional  gov- 
ernment in  the  Far  East,  upon  beautiful  conduct 
in  garden  cities,  upon  the  incidence  of  taxation, 
upon  housing  and  sanitation,  upon  sweated  labour, 
upon  sex  and  marriage,  upon  vaccination  and 
physical  culture,  upon  food-bases,  oriental  religion 
and  Hindu  poetry. 

Peter  did  not  meet  all  these  people  at  once. 
There  was  a  period  of  six  months  during  which  he 
gradually  intruded  among  these  jarring  intelli- 
gencies.  During  this  time  he  was  continually  see- 
ing things  from  a  new  angle  and  weighing  fresh 
opinions,  continually  pricked  to  explore  untrodden 
ways  of  speculation.  The  chase  of  exotic  views 
was  for  a  time  fun  enough  to  keep  him  from  meas- 
uring their  value. 

Peter  for  nearly  eighteen  months  mingled  with 
this  fussy  and  bitter  under-world  of  thinkers  and 
talkers.  He  listened  seriously  to  all  it  had  to  say, 
at  first  with  respect  and  curiosity.  But  gradually 
he  grew  suspicious  —  even  hostile.  As  he  knew 
these  people  better,  and  talked  with  them  more 


136  PETER  PARAGON 

intimately,  he  discovered  that  their  energy  was 
much  of  it  superficial.  When,  in  his  lust  for  truth, 
he  pushed  into  their  defences,  he  found  that  many 
of  their  views  were  fashionable  hearsay.  They 
echoed  one  another.  Only  a  few  had  deeply  read 
or  widely  observed  for  themselves.  Each  clique 
had  its  registered  commonplaces.  Each  was  a 
nest  of  authority.  Peter  suffered  a  series  of  small 
shocks,  hardly  felt  individually,  but  insensibly 
breaking  down  his  faith.  Often  as  he  pushed  into 
the  mind  of  this  person  or  that,  thrilling  to  meet 
and  clash  with  a  pliable  intelligence,  he  found  him- 
self vainly  beating  against  the  logical  blank  wall 
of  a  formula. 

Among  Peter's  new  acquaintances  was  the  edi- 
tor of  a  collectivist  weekly  Review.  This  man 
discovered  Peter's  literary  gift  and  turned  him 
loose  upon  the  theatres.  For  several  months 
Peter  wrote  weekly  articles,  with  liberty  to  say 
what  he  pleased.  Peter  said  what  he  pleased  with 
ferocity.  His  articles  were  a  weekly  battery, 
trained  upon  the  amusements  of  modern  London. 
All  went  well  till  Peter  began  to  quarrel  with  the 
intellectual  drama  of  his  editor.  One  week  Peter 
grew  bitter  concerning  a  new  stage  hero  of  the 
time  —  the  man  of  ideas  who  talks  everybody 
down.  Peter  said  flatly  that  he  was  tired  of  this 
fidgety  puppet.  It  was  time  he  was  put  away. 
The  editor  sent  for  him. 

"  Here,  Paragon,  this  won't  do  at  all." 

"  What's  wrong?" 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  137 

{  You've  dropped  on  this  fellow  like  a  sand- 
bag. We're  here  to  encourage  this  sort  of 
drama." 

Peter  put  his  nose  into  the  air. 

'  What  is  the  name  of  this  paper?  I  thought 
you  called  it  the  Free  Lance." 

1  You  can  say  what  you  like  about  plays  in  gen- 
eral." 

Peter  then  and  there  resigned.  But  he  was  too 
good  a  pen  to  lose.  His  editor  borrowed  a  gal- 
lery ticket  from  a  London  daily  paper,  and  sent 
Peter  to  attend  debates  in  the  House  of  Commons 
as  an  impartial  critic  of  Parliamentary  deportment 
and  intelligence.  Three  weeks  shattered  all 
Peter's  fixed  ideas  of  English  public  life.  He  for- 
got to  detest  the  futility  of  the  party  game  —  as 
he  had  at  the  Oxford  Union  so  persistently  con- 
trived to  do  —  in  sincere  enjoyment  of  a  perpetu- 
ally interesting  comedy.  Moreover,  the  figures  he 
most  admired  were  the  figures  he  should  by  rote 
have  denounced.  He  delighted  in  the  perfect  ad- 
dress of  a  statesman  he  had  formerly  reprobated 
as  an  old-fashioned  Liberal;  and,  listening  to  the 
speeches  of  the  old-fashioned  Liberal's  principal 
Tory  opponent,  he  felt  he  was  in  contact  with  a 
living  and  adventurous  mind.  Peter  recognised 
that  this  man  —  hitherto  simply  regarded  as  an 
enemy  of  the  people  —  was,  like  himself,  an  ex- 
plorer. He  was  feeling  his  way  to  the  truth. 


XX 

PETER  stood  one  evening  in  early  March  —  it  was 
his  second  spring  in  London  —  upon  the  terrace  at 
Westminster.  The  friendly  member  who  had 
brought  him  there  had  for  a  moment  disappeared. 
Perhaps  it  was  the  first  stirring  of  the  year,  or  the 
air  blowing  up  from  the  sea  after  the  fumes  of  the 
stuffiest  room  in  London,  but  Peter  felt  a  glad 
release  as  he  watched  the  tide  sweeping  in  from 
the  bridge.  He  had  just  heard  the  speech  of  a 
socialist  minister  reflecting  just  that  intellectual 
rigidity  from  which  he  was  beginning  to  recoil. 
The  day  was  warm,  with  faint  ashes  of  a  sunset 
dispersed  over  a  sky  of  intense  blue.  Peter 
watched  a  boat  steaming  out  into  a  world  so  wide 
that  it  dwarfed  the  towers  under  which  he  had 
that  afternoon  been  sitting.  Dead  phrases  lin- 
gered in  his  brain,  prompting  into  memory  a  mul- 
titude of  doctrines  and  ideas  —  the  stuff  on  which 
he  had  fed  since  he  set  out  to  explore  revolutionary 
London.  He  shot  them  impatiently  at  the  open 
sky.  They  rattled  against  the  impenetrable  blue 
like  peas  flung  at  a  window.  Peter  impulsively 
breathed  deeply  of  the  flowing  air.  It  rushed  into 
the  corners  of  his  brain. 

He  left  the  House,  and  walked  towards  Char- 
ing Cross.     He  fitfully  turned  over  in  his  mind 

138 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  139 

passages  of  the  speech  he  had  heard  that  after- 
noon, but  repeatedly  the  windy  heavens  rebuked 
him.  He  began  to  feel  as  if,  with  adventures  all 
about  him,  he  had  for  days  been  prying  into  a 
heap  of  rubbish. 

He  pulled  up  on  the  pavement  beside  a  great 
horse  straining  to  start  a  heavy  dray.  Sparks  flew 
from  his  iron  hoofs,  which,  in  a  desperate  clatter, 
marked  the  rhythm  of  his  effort.  The  muscles 
of  his  flank  were  contracted.  His  whole  form 
was  alive  with  energy.  The  dray  started  and 
moved  away. 

Elfinly  there  intruded  upon  Peter,  watching  the 
struggle  of  this  beautiful  creature,  a  memory  of 
the  ministerial  orator.  The  one  seemed  gro- 
tesquely to  outface  the  other.  The  straining  thews 
of  the  horse  were  in  tune  with  the  sky.  The 
breath  in  his  nostrils  was  that  same  air  from  the 
sea  which  had  met  Peter  upon  the  terrace.  Na- 
ture was  knit  in  a  friendly  vitality,  mysteriously 
opposed  to  all  the  categories.  The  categories 
were  somehow  mystically  shattered  beneath  the 
iron  of  the  horse's  beating, hoofs;  were  shredded 
by  the  wind  which  noisily  fluttered  Peter's  coat. 

That  same  evening  he  attended  a  fashionable 
lecture,  wherein  it  was  explained  that  marriage 
was  an  affair  of  State.  The  theme  touched  in 
Peter  a  strain  of  feeling  that  had  slept  from  the 
moment  he  had  lost  Miranda.  When  the  lecturer 
had  shown  how  the  erotic  forces  now  loose  in  the 
world,  and  acting  blindly,  could  be  successfully 


i4o  PETER  PARAGON 

run  in  leash  by  a  committee  of  experts,  Peter  left 
the  meeting  and  sat  in  a  restaurant  waiting  for 
dinner.  The  place  was  gay  with  tongues.  The 
tongues  were  German  and  French,  or  English  that 
clearly  was  not  natural;  for  this  was  a  dining  place 
of  men  who  paid  the  bill  for  women  they  had  not 
met  before.  The  company  was  very  select;  and 
Peter,  devouring  an  expensive  meal,  admired  with 
the  shyness  that  beauty  still  raised  in  him,  the 
clothes,  faces,  and  obvious  charms  of  the  lovely 
feeders.  Sometimes  his  heart  beat  a  little  faster 
as  the  insolent,  slow  eyes  of  one  of  these  women 
curiously  surveyed  him.  There  was  a  beautiful 
creature  who  especially  fascinated  him.  He  felt 
he  would  like  just  to  look  at  her,  and  enjoy  the 
play  of  her  face.  He  could  not  do  as  he  wished, 
because  now  and  then  she  glanced  at  him,  and 
he  would  not  have  met  her  eyes  for  the  world. 
Once,  however,  there  was  a  clashing  of  their  looks, 
and  Peter  felt  that  his  cheeks  were  burning. 

Tumultuously  rebuking  his  pulse,  Peter  caught 
an  ironic  vision  of  himself  leading  a  long  file  of 
these  brilliant  women  to  the  lecturer  from  whom 
he  had  just  escaped,  with  a  request  that  he  should 
deal  with  them  according  to  his  theory  of  erotic 
forces. 

May  was  drawing  to  an  end  when  Peter's 
mother  decided  she  must  spend  a  few  weeks  with 
her  brother  in  Hamingburgh.  Peter  realised,  as 
she  told  him  of  this,  how  quietly  necessary  she  had 
been  to  him  during  these  last  months.  Always 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  141 

he  returned  to  the  still,  beautiful  figure  of  his 
mother  as  to  something  rooted  and  safe.  Some- 
times, as  he  entertained  some  of  his  talking  friends, 
he  watched  her  sitting  monumentally  wise,  pas- 
sively confounding  them. 

" 1  won't  stay  alone  in  London,"  Peter  suddenly 
announced. 

His  mother  calmly  considered  him. 

"  I  can  easily  arrange  it  for  you,"  she  suggested 
at  last. 

"  I  should  go  mad,"  said  Peter  briefly.  He 
crossed  to  where  his  mother  was  sitting. 

"  Why,  Peter,"  she  said,  "  I  hardly  see  any- 
thing of  you." 

"  You  are  always  there,"  said  Peter,  putting  his 
arm  around  her  shoulder.  "  You  simply  don't 
know  what  a  comfort  it  is  to  have  you.  Some- 
how you  keep  things  from  going  to  the  devil.  I 
don't  mean  the  housekeeping,"  continued  Peter, 
answering  his  mother's  puzzled  look.  "  The  fact 
is,  mother,  you're  quite  wonderful.  You're  the 
pnly  person  I  know  who  hasn't  any  opinions.  You 
just  are" 

Peter  decided  to  go  into  the  country,  and  return 
to  London  when  his  mother  was  ready  to  come 
back.  The  time  for  this  had  almost  arrived,  when 
he  met  Marbury  in  the  lobby  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons. 

Marbury  broke  away  from  his  friends  as  Peter 
was  hesitating  whether  to  pass  him. 

"  Hullo,  Peter,  what  are  you  doing  in  this  dusty 


142  PETER  PARAGON 

place  ?     I  thought  you  were  loose  in  the  theatre." 

"  Was,"  Peter  briefly  corrected. 

"  Then  you  got  tired?  " 

"  No,  I  squabbled  with  the  editor." 

"How  are  you  getting  on?"  asked  Marbury, 
quietly  inspecting  his  friend. 

"  Very  badly.     How  are  you?  " 

"  I'm  standing  in  a  month  or  so  for  the  family 
seat,"  answered  Marbury.  "  That's  why  I'm 
here.  You  must  come  and  see  the  election.  Poli- 
tics from  within." 

"  Damn  politics." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Peter.     It's  the  Spring." 

"  I  want  to  get  away  from  all  this  infernal  talk- 
ing," said  Peter. 

"  You've  discovered  that  some  of  it's  a  bit 
thin?" 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I've  discovered,"  said  Peter 
savagely,  "I've  discovered  that  almost  any  damn 
fool  can  be  intellectual." 

'  Try  the  stupid  fellows  who  are  always  right." 

''Who  are  they?" 

"  Latest  definition  of  a  Tory.  Come  and  talk 
to  the  farm-labourers." 

"  Not  yet.     I'm  going  to  live  in  the  air." 

"  What  will  you  do  ?     Books  ?  " 

11 1  hate  books." 

"  Come  now,  Peter,  not  all  books,"  protested 
Marbury.  "  Let  me  send  you  some.  Books  for 
the  open." 

"  Can  you  find  me  a  book  that  has  nothing  to 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  143 

do  with  any  modern  thing  —  a  book  that  goes  with 
the  earth  and  touches  bottom." 

"What's  wrong  with  Shakespeare?"  asked 
Marbury. 

"  I've  packed  Shakespeare." 

"  I'll  send  you  some  more." 

u  Be  careful,"  Peter  warned  him;  "  I  shall  pitch 
anything  that  looks  like  a  talking  book  into  the 
fire." 

"  You  mustn't  do  that,  Peter.  The  books  I  am 
going  to  send  you  are  valuable." 

They  were  walking  now  in  Whitehall. 

"When  do  you  begin  to  be  elected?"  asked 
Peter,  suddenly  expanding. 

"  Almost  at  once.  I'll  send  for  you  when  the 
time  comes." 

"What's  the  idea  of  that?" 

'  You  must  come  round  the  constituency  — 
fifty  miles  across  in  its  narrowest  part.  I  want 
someone  to  feed  me  with  sandwiches  and  keep  my 
spirits  up.  Besides  it  will  do  you  good.  You'll 
meet  some  people  who  have  never,  written  a  book 
and  haven't  any  opinions." 

"  Beasts  of  the  field,"  said  Peter. 

"  Not  at  all.  They're  all  on  the  register;  and 
they  will  vote  for  Marbury." 

By  the  time  they  had  reached  Charing  Cross 
Marbury  had  persuaded  Peter  to  tell  his  address. 
He  also  agreed  to  join  Marbury  immediately  he 
was  summoned.  The  next  day  he  went  with  his 
mother  to  Hamingburgh,  and  afterwards  packed 


144  PETER  PARAGON 

for  the  country.  He  would  wander  aimlessly  in 
Worcestershire  from  village  to  village  till  Mar- 
bury  sent  for  him. 

Already  lie  was  happier  for  the  meeting.  He 
felt  an  access  of  real  affection  for  Marbury  on  be- 
ing interrupted  in  his  packing  by  the  arrival  of  the 
books  Marbury  had  promised.  He  pitched  them 
unopened  into  his  trunk,  in  confidence  that  Mar- 
bury  had  chosen  well. 


XXI 

PETER  finally  quartered  himself  upon  a  lonely  farm 
in  Worcestershire.  The  estate  was  large  and 
wild,  running  down  steep  hills  and  banks  to  a 
brook  and  tiny  falls  of  water.  The  family  who 
owned  it  scraped  a  livelihood  from  odds  and  ends 
of  country  employment.  They  had  some  orchard, 
and  pasture  for  half  a  dozen  cows.  But  there  was 
no  arable,  and  they  made  up  a  yearly  deficit  by 
receiving  visitors  from  the  town. 

Peter  had  the  place  to  himself,  and  the  peace  of 
it  was  deeply  refreshing.  The  house  stood  high, 
whence  the  shapely  hills  of  the  country  were  visible 
—  Malvern  hanging  like  a  small  cloud  on  the  hori- 
zon. For  many  days  he  lay  in  the  June  sun,  lis- 
tening to  the  stir  of  leaves,  watching  with  curiosity 
the  lives  of  small  creatures  he  could  not  name. 
In  deepest  luxury  he  sat  day  by  day  on  a  fallen 
trunk  across  the  stream,  grateful  after  the  blazing 
descent  of  a  broken  hill  for  the  cool  shade  of 
trees  meeting  overhead,  watching  a  fish  lying  un- 
der the  bank  or  rising  to  snap  at  a  fly.  Or  he 
would  be  buried  in  grass,  softly  topped  by  the  light 
wind,  diverted  after  long,  empty  moments  by  the 
appearance  of  a  rabbit  or  a  bird  not  suspecting 
him.  Peter  dreamed  away  whole  days,  utterly 
vacant  of  thought,  recording  things.  He  counted 

145 


i46  PETER  PARAGON 

the  number  of  times  a  glossy  black  cow,  munching 
beside  him,  masticated  her  food  between  each  re- 
turn of  the  cud.  There  was  a  horse  which  had 
brought  his  trunk  to  the  house  who  always  stood 
with  his  head  thrust  through  a  gap  in  the  hedge. 
Peter  watched  the  flies  collect  upon  his  eyelids, 
and  waited  lazily  for  the  blink  which  regularly 
dispersed  them  in  a  tiny  cloud.  Peter,  in  reac- 
tion from  the  fruitless  activity  of  his  last  months 
in  London,  rested  and  was  pleased.  It  seemed 
as  he  lay  upon  the  earth  that  the  scent  of  the  grass 
was  life  enough;  that  reality,  humming  in  wings 
of  the  air,  in  the  splashing  of  water,  in  noises  of 
the  cattle,  was  sufficient  for  his  uninquiring  day. 
He  took  an  enormous  pleasure  in  small  material 
things  —  the  spiriting  of  warm  milk  into  the  pail ; 
the  breath  of  an  old  dog  as  he  stood,  watchful 
and  erect,  in  the  cold  morning;  the  slow,  grace- 
ful sweeping  of  a  scythe;  the  shining  of  the  first 
star  after  sunset;  the  dipping  of  hot  fingers  into 
the  brook;  the  odour  of  ham  frizzling  in  the  farm- 
er's pan. 

At  night,  with  the  curtains  drawn,  and  by  the 
light  of  an  oil  lamp  whose  smell  was  ever  after 
associated  in  Peter's  mind  with  these  rustic  days, 
he  played  with  the  books  which  Marbury  had 
packed  for  him.  Among  them  was  Burton's 
Arabian  Nights  and  Urquhart's  Rabelais.  Mar- 
bury  had  well  chosen.  Peter  had  never  felt  be- 
fore the  wonder  of  Rabelais.  Here,  alone  with 
the  beasts  and  with  people  whose  lives  were  taken 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  147 

up  with  their  feeding  and  breeding,  Peter  smelt 
in  Rabelais  the  fresh  dirt  and  sweat  of  the  earth. 
He  squarely  received  between  his  shoulders  the 
hearty  slap  of  a  laughter  broad  as  mankind. 
Rabelais  was  the  evening  chorus  of  his  day  in  the 
fields.  The  voices  of  the  hearty  morning,  the  slow 
noon,  and  the  quiet  evening  sounded  between  the 
lines  where  Grangousier  warmed  his  great  bulk 
by  the  fire  and  Gargantua  thrived  to  enormous 
manhood. 

It  was  only  after  many  days  that  Peter  looked 
into  Burton.  He  wondered  why  Marbury  should 
have  included  a  book  he  knew  only  as  a  series  of 
pretty  tales.  Then  he  found  that  beside  his 
Rabelais  upon  the  shelf  was  the  greatest  song  of 
the  flesh  yet  uttered. 

After  his  first  night  with  Burton,  Peter  flung 
wide  his  window  to  the  air.  A  cat  slunk  cau- 
tiously into  the  garden  and  away.  The  farmer 
and  his  wife  came  out  for  a  moment  to  read  the 
sky,  and  stood  in  the  light  of  the  door.  The  old 
man  lifted  his  face,  and  was  moulded  clearly  in 
silhouette  —  a  face  beaten  hard  with  weather,  but 
untroubled  after  seventy  years  of  appetites  health- 
ily satisfied.  He  was  sagacious  as  befitted  his 
high  species;  he  had  eaten  and  drunk  for  sixty- 
five  years,  and  had  bred  of  his  kind.  All  this  he 
had  inevitably  done  as  a  creature  with  his  spade 
in  the  earth  and  his  hand  heavy  upon  the  inferior 
beasts. 

Mere  flesh  and  blood  was  good,  and  it  endured. 


i48  PETER  PARAGON 

Peter's  heart  was  pulsing  now  with  a  song  older 
than  an  English  farmer  —  a  song  of  man  who  was 
tickled  under  an  Eastern  sun  and  laughed,  who 
was  pricked  with  absolute  lust  —  who  found  his 
flesh  not  an  obstacle  between  himself  and  heaven, 
but  his  heritage  and  expression. 

Peter  was  not  thinking.  He  idly  looked  and 
received  a  faint  rain  of  impressions  from  the  still 
night  and  from  memories  of  a  tale.  A  barrier  of 
fresh  earth  mounted  between  him  and  his  troubles 
of  the  year.  He  was  content  to  rest  and  dream. 
He  turned  from  the  window,  weary  with  air  and 
sun,  stretching  his  elbows  in  an  agreeable  yawn. 
He  felt  the  clean  flexion  of  the  muscles  of  his  arm. 
He  stretched  again,  repeating  a  healthy  pleasure, 
and  yawned  happily  to  bed. 

Haymaking  under  a  burning  sun  began  on  the 
following  day,  and  Peter  offered  help  to  the 
farmer.  The  old  man  looked  favourably  at 
Peter's  broad  shoulders  and  friendly  eyes.  Then 
there  were  long  back-breaking  hours  in  the  open 
field.  Peter  learned  why  there  was  leisure  and 
grace  in  the  movements  of  his  companion,  and 
tried  to  imitate,  under  pleasant  chaff,  the  expert's 
artful  economy  of  power. 

Peter  soon  found  in  his  new  friend  a  surprising 
fund  of  wisdom  painfully  gathered.  The  farm- 
er's knowledge  was  limited,  but  very  sure.  He 
had  learned  life  for  himself,  with  scraps  inherited 
from  his  father  and  collected  from  his  friends. 
His  prejudices,  even  when  absurd,  were  rooted  in 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  149 

the  earth.  Peter  felt  he  would  exchange  all  his 
books  for  a  blank  mind  where  Nature  could  write 
in  so  firm  a  hand. 

His  wife  brought  cider  and  cheese  to  them  in 
the  field,  and  they  sat  under  a  hedge  contemplating 
the  morning's  work  in  the  pauses  of  a  rough  meal. 

"  Plenty  to  do  yet,"  said  Peter,  looking  at  the 
large  field  with  a  sense  of  labour  to  come. 

"  Matter  o'  twenty-four  hours." 

The  old  man  paused  on  the  rim  of  his  mug,  and 
narrowed  his  eyes  at  the  blue  sky.  "  We  can  be 
gentle  with  the  work.  You'll  find  it  pays  to  be 
gentle." 

Peter  drank  gratefully  at  the  cool  cider. 

"Thirsty,  sir?"  The  old  man  filled  Peter's 
mug  and  watched  him  drink  it. 

"  That's  good  liquor.  Forty  years  she's  brewed 
it."  He  jerked  his  thumb  towards  the  house. 

"  Your  wife?  "  asked  Peter  most  politely. 

"  Married  forty  years,"  nodded  the  old  man. 
"  It's  well  to  marry  when  you're  lusty.  Nature's 
kind  when  you  live  natural,  but,  if  you  thwart  her, 
she  turns  you  a  beast  in  the  end.  Married  your- 
self? "  he  suddenly  asked,  surveying  Peter  as  a 
likely  young  animal. 

"  I'm  only  twenty-one,"  said  Peter,  with  a 
shocked  inflexion. 

"Not  too  young  for  marriage,"  grossly  chuckled 
the  old  man.  "  There's  many  uneasy  lads  of  your 
age  and  less  would  do  well  to  be  married.  The 
devil  tickles  finely  the  members  of  a  young  lad." 


150  PETER  PARAGON 

Peter  had  heard  these  things  discussed  in  a  pub- 
lic hall,  but  the  language  had  been  decently  scien- 
tific or  medical.  How  vulgar  and  timid  seemed 
these  late  evasions  under  the  burning  sun !  Peter 
was  ashamed  not  to  be  able  frankly  to  meet  an 
old  man  who  talked  clearly  of  nature  without  pick- 
ing his  words. 

Peter  sweated  through  the  day,  and  in  the  even- 
ing sat  happily  tired  at  the  window.  His  day's 
work  had  brought  him  nearer  yet  to  the  earth. 
The  faint  smell  of  the  drying  grass,  and  a  dim 
line  of  the  field  where  the  green  blade  met  the 
grey,  was  witness  of  a  day  well  spent.  Manual 
labour  was  delightful  after  lounging  weeks  of 
mental  work  with  nothing  to  show.  There  was 
something  ultimate  and  real  about  physical  ex- 
penditure. Could  anything  in  the  world  be  finer 
than  to  be  just  a  very  sagacious  animal? 

A  low,  gurgling  song  —  it  seemed  the  voice  of 
a  woman  —  came  and  went  among  the  trees  of  the 
garden.  Then  there  was  silence.  Soon  there 
were  footsteps,  and  two  figures  appeared  in  the 
shadow  of  some  bushes  beside  the  gate  which  gave 
upon  the  lawn  beneath  him.  The  figures  stood 
close,  and  a  man's  voice,  pleading,  alternated  with 
low  laughter  in  the  tone  which  previously  had  been 
the  tone  of  the  song.  At  last  the  man  moved 
forward,  and  the  woman,  still  laughing,  allowed 
herself  to  be  kissed.  As  Peter  drew  instinctively 
back  he  heard  her  laughter  muted  by  the  man's 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  151 

lips.  The  incident  stirred  Peter  more  than  he 
cared  to  acknowledge.  He  heard  his  heart  beat- 
ing, and  saw  his  hand  tremble  on  the  sill. 

He  angrily  shut  the  window,  and,  lighting  the 
lamps,  took  down  his  books  from  the  shelf.  But 
the  books  would  not  hold  his  brain.  The  stifled 
laugh  of  the  woman  by  the  gate  echoed  there.  He 
caught  himself  staring  at  the  page,  restless,  feeling 
that  the  room  oppressed  him.  It  seemed  that  life 
was  beating  at  the  window,  that  the  room  in  which 
he  sat  was  unvisited,  and  that  he  was  holding  the 
visitor  at  bay. 

He  gave  up  all  pretence  of  reading,  and  again 
let  in  the  air.  He  stared  into  the  garden,  which 
now  seemed  the  heart  of  the  world.  The  figures 
by  the  gate  had  vanished,  but  Peter  fancied  he 
heard,  from  the  dark,  whiffs  of  talk,  and  breathing 
movements. 

At  last  there  were  steps  unmistakable,  and  the 
same  low  song  Peter  had  first  heard.  This  time 
the  woman  was  alone.  She  carried  a  hat  in  her 
hand.  She  stood  by  the  gate  a  moment,  and 
pushed  the  pins  into  her  hair.  Then  she  came 
over  the  lawn  into  the  light  of  the  house  window, 
walking  free  and  lithe.  She  paused  at  the  window 
and  looked  mischievously  in  upon  the  old  couple 
below.  Clearly  she  had  come  to  surprise  them. 
She  opened  the  door  upon  them  in  a  gleam  of  sly 
excitement.  Peter  saw  with  a  renewed  beating  of 
the  heart  how  full  were  the  smiling  lips  he  had 


152  PETER  PARAGON 

heard  stifled  into  silence.  His  mind  threw  back 
the  girl,  as  she  stood  in  the  light,  into  the  shadow 
of  a  man's  embrace. 

A  clamour  of  greeting  from  below  scattered  his 
thoughts. 

"  Why,  if  it  isn't  Bess !  "  he  heard  the  old  man 
say.  Then  there  was  a  hearty  kissing,  and  the 
door  was  shut  on  a  murmur  of  welcoming  talk. 

Peter  lay  long  into  the  night,  listening  to  the 
clatter  of  tongues  over  a  meal  below.  Bess  was 
clearly  a  favourite.  When  the  kitchen  door 
opened,  and  the  family  tramped  to  bed,  he  heard 
once  more  the  low  vibrating  voice  of  the  girl. 

"  Good  night,  grandpa !  " 

Then  he  heard  the  women  above  him  in  the 
attic,  making  up  a  bed.  One  of  them  came  down, 
and  the  house  dropped  into  silence  save  for  the 
quiet  movements  of  the  girl  upstairs. 


XXII 

PETER  in  the  morning  was  early  awake.  He  had 
asked  the  day  before,  as  a  fledged  labourer,  to  take 
his  breakfast  with  the  farmer  that  they  might 
begin  early  with  the  hay.  He  felt  shy  of  the  girl 
whose  appearance  had  so  disconcerted  him  the 
night  before.  But  there  was  no  one  in  the  kitchen 
except  the  old  man  and  his  wife. 

'  You  heard  us  in  the  night,  I  reckon?  "  said 
the  old  man  over  his  mug  of  tea. 

"  You  had  a  visitor?  " 

"  My  son's  first  daughter.  Come  to  lend  a 
hand  with  the  work.  She's  strong  in  the  field  — 
strong  as  a  good  man.  You'll  make  a  good  pair," 
chuckled  the  old  man.  "  We'll  finish  the  ten 
acre  to-day." 

"  I'll  have  the  start,  anyway,"  said  Peter, 
affectedly  covering  his  tremors.  He  did  not  relish 
the  idea  of  being  second  labourer  to  a  girl  who 
already  had  made  him  nervous. 

The  old  man  laughed  in  the  unending  way  of 
people  who  enjoy  one  joke  a  day,  but  enjoy  it  well. 

"  You'll  not  get  the  start  o'  Bess,"  he  said  at 
last.  "  She's  milked  this  half-hour,  and  she'll  a' 
dug  taters  for  a  week  'fore  we're  sweated." 

They  left  the  house  and  worked  silently  through 
the  first  half  of  the  morning.  Peter  was  silent, 

153 


154  PETER  PARAGON 

preoccupied  with  his  strange  terror  of  meeting  the 
farmer's  granddaughter.  Yet,  as  they  rested  at 
noon,  he  was  disappointed  that  she  had  not  come. 
He  had  not  found  content  in  his  labour. 

Then,  suddenly,  he  saw  her  coming  over  the 
field  with  a  tray.  At  once  he  felt  a  panic  to  run  or 
to  disappear.  He  could  feel  his  flesh  burning  be- 
neath the  sweat  of  his  morning's  work.  He  could 
not  look  directly  at  the  girl,  but  in  swift  glances 
he  embraced  the  swing  and  poise  of  her  advance. 

For  a  miserable  moment  Peter  stood  between 
his  terror  of  the  girl  and  his  instinct  to  run  and 
relieve  her  of  the  heavy  tray.  He  felt  himself  — 
it  seemed  after  hours  of  indecision  that  he  did  so 
—  spring  to  his  feet.  He  met  her  ten  yards  from 
the  spot  where  they  had  sheltered  under  the  hedge. 

"  Let  me,"  he  said,  taking  the  tray  into  his 
hands.  He  did  not  look  at  her,  but  knew  she  was 
smiling  at  his  strange,  polite  way. 

"  The  young  gentleman's  in  a  mighty  hurry  to 
know  you,  Bess,"  said  the  farmer,  amused  at 
Peter's  incredibly  gallant  behaviour. 

"  He's  a  young  gentleman,  to  be  sure,"  said  the 
girl  in  the  low,  even  note  which  again  stirred 
Peter  to  the  bone.  He  felt  her  eyes  surveying 
him,  and  in  an  agony  of  resolution  looked  her  in 
the  face. 

He  could  only  endure  for  a  moment  her  steady, 
impudent  gaze.  Her  lazy  smile  accented  the  chal- 
lenge of  her  eyes.  Peter  was  conscious  only  of  her 
sex,  and  she  knew  it  at  their  first  meeting.  In 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  155 

every  look  and  motion  of  her  face  and  body  was 
provocation.  Her  appeal  was  not  always  con- 
scious, but  it  was  never  silent.  Peter  saw  now 
what  had  moved  him  as  she  stood  in  the  light  of 
the  window  the  evening  before  with  mischief  in 
her  eyes.  Even  then,  though  she  had  no  thought 
of  a  lover,  it  was  woman's  mischief.  He  saw  it 
now  fronting  him  in  the  sun.  He  could  hardly 
endure  to  meet  it,  yet  it  was  vital  and  sweet. 

They  sat  and  talked  of  the  work  before  them. 

"  You've  come  in  good  time,  Bess.  'Twill  be 
a  storm  before  the  week  ends,  and  we  must  get 
the  ten  acre  carried." 

She  sat  calmly  munching  bread  and  cheese, 
waiting  to  catch  Peter  in  one  of  his  stealthy 
glances. 

"  Yes,  grandpa,  I've  come  in  good  time.  Per- 
haps I  knew  you  had  a  handsome  young  labourer." 

How  could  she  play  among  the  messages  that 
quickened  in  their  eyes? 

Peter  angrily  flushed,  and  she  laughed.  The 
old  man  chuckled,  seeing  nothing  at  all.  He  was 
not  a  part  of  their  quick  life. 

The  old  man  scythed  steadily  through  the  after- 
noon. Peter  and  the  girl  tossed  the  long  ranks  of 
hay,  working  alternate  rows.  He  was  never  for  a 
moment  unaware  of  her  presence.  Starting  from 
the  extreme  ends  of  the  field,  they  regularly  met 
in  the  centre.  As  the  distance  between  them 
vanished,  Peter  became  painfully  excited,  almost 
terrified.  Though  he  seldom  looked  towards  the 


156  PETER  PARAGON 

girl,  he  somehow  followed  every  swing  of  her 
brown  arms.  She  invariably  stopped  her  work  as 
he  approached,  and  Peter  felt  like  a  young  animal 
whose  points  are  numbered  in  the  ring.  He 
passed  her  three  times,  doggedly  refusing  to  notice 
her.  At  the  fourth  encounter  he  shot  at  her  a 
shyly  resentful  —  almost  sullen  —  protest.  But 
the  eyes  he  encountered  were  fixed  on  the  strong 
muscles  of  his  neck  with  a  look  —  almost  of  greed 
—  which  staggered  him.  She  knew  he  had  read 
her,  and  she  laughed  as,  in  a  tumult  of  pleasure, 
stung  with  shame,  he  turned  swiftly  away. 

"  Good  boy,"  she  murmured  under  her  breath. 
Peter  angrily  turned  towards  her,  and  found  her 
eyes,  lit  with  mockery,  openly  seducing  him. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  said  Peter  foolishly. 

"  You're  working  fine,  but  you're  not  used  to  it." 

"  I'm  all  right." 

u  You're  dripping  with  heat."  She  dropped 
her  fork,  and  caught  at  her  apron.  It  was  a 
pretty  apron,  decorated  with  cherry-coloured 
ribbons. 

"  Come  here,"  she  said. 

Peter  stared  at  her  like  a  fascinated  rabbit. 
She  stepped  towards  him,  and  wiped  the  running 
sweat  from  his  face  and  neck.  He  pettishly  shook 
himself  free.  Laughing,  she  stood  back  and  ad- 
mired him.  Then,  with  a  little  shrug,  she  turned 
away  and  went  slowly  down  the  field.  Peter 
watched  her  for  a  moment,  troubled  but  hopelessly 
caught  in  the  ease  and  grace  of  her  swinging  arms. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  157 

Her  face,  as  she  came  to  him,  had  seemed  as 
delicately  cool  as  when  first  she  appeared  from 
the  house,  though  a  fine  dew  had  glistened  in  the 
curves  of  her  throat.  She  was  lovely  and  strong; 
yet  Peter  had  for  her  a  faint,  persistent  horror. 

He  felt  when  evening  came,  and  the  field  was 
mown,  a  glad  release,  curiously  dashed  with  regret. 
His  room  had  about  it  the  atmosphere  of  a 
sanctuary.  He  was  grateful  for  the  peace  it  held, 
yet  it  was  also  desolate.  After  supper  he  sat  at 
the  window,  watching  the  hills  fade  into  a  violet 
sky.  As  the  light  softened  he  heard  once  again 
a  low  song  from  the  orchard.  Peter's  heart 
started  like  a  spurred  horse.  The  song  continued 
—  the  faint  crooning,  as  it  were,  of  a  thoughtful 
bird  —  and  at  last  it  became  intolerable.  Peter 
shut  down  his  window  and  opened  a  book  upon 
the  table  near  him.  It  was  a  volume  of  Burton 
left  from  last  evening.  It  fell  open  easily  at  a 
page;  and,  as  Peter  lifted  it  in  the  dim  light,  he 
read  the  title  of  a  frank  and  merry  tale  concerning 
the  way  of  a  woman  with  a  boy  less  willing  than 
she.  Peter  suddenly  dashed  down  the  book  as 
though  he  had  been  stung:  Flouting  his  eyes 
between  the  leaves  of  this  tale  was  a  fragment 
of  cherry-coloured  ribbon. 

He  went  from  the  house  into  the  warm  air,  and 
flung  himself  down  on  the  cut  grass.  He  felt 
as  if  he  were  being  hunted.  In  vain  he  avoided 
the  image  of  the  girl  who  had  challenged  him. 
He  shut  his  eyes,  and  she  again  stood  clearly 


158  PETER  PARAGON 

before  him  in  the  hot  sun.  He  buried  his  ears  in 
the  cool  grass,  and  he  heard  her  low  singing. 
Then,  in  a  sudden  surrender,  he  suppressed  his  shy 
terror,  and  in  fancy  looked  at  her  as  in  the  flesh 
he  had  not  dared  to  look,  tracing  between  himself 
and  the  sky  the  outline  of  her  lips  and  throat. 

How  sultry  it  was,  and  still !  The  air  was  wait- 
ing oppressively  for  a  storm.  Peter  felt  himself 
in  tune  with  the  hanging  thunder.  He  felt  he 
would  like  to  hear  the  running  water  of  the  brook. 
The  pearly  wreck  of  a  sunset  lighted  him  down 
the  hill,  and  soon  he  was  sitting  in  a  chosen 
nook  of  the  river,  his  ears  refreshed  by  small 
noises  of  the  stream. 

The  silence  was  deep,  for  there  was  not  a  breath 
in  the  valley.  The  trees  seemed  to  be  mildly 
brooding  —  sentient  sad  creatures  waiting  for  the 
air.  Once  Peter  heard  the  bracken  stir;  but  the 
silence  closed  again  over  the  faint  sound,  leaving 
the  world  waiting  as  for  a  signal. 

It  seemed  as  if  Nature  was  standing  there 
bidding  the  earth  be  still  till  the  creature  she  had 
vowed  to  subdue  was  beaten  down.  Peter  flung 
his  thoughts  to  the  blank  silence  of  the  place,  and 
they  returned,  reverberating  and  enforced. 

Suddenly  a  shot  shivered  the  silence  into  quick 
echoes.  Peter  guessed  the  farmer  was  in  the 
warren  after  rabbits.  Thinking  to  meet  him  and 
get  away  from  the  intolerable  obsession  of  the  day, 
he  started  to  climb  the  hill.  The  second  shot  rang 
out  surprisingly  near,  and  almost  immediately  a 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  159 

figure  rose  from  a  bush  among  the  bracken.  It 
was  the  farmer's  granddaughter.  He  cried  out 
in  surprise,  and  the  figure  turned. 

She  greeted  him  with  an  inquiring  lilt  of  the 
voice.  Peter  came  awkwardly  forward. 

"  Did  you  hit?  "  he  asked,  for  talking's  sake. 

11  Two." 

She  leaned  on  the  gate,  hatefully  smiling  at  him. 
Peter  felt  he  must  turn  and  run  from  her  eyes,  or 
that  he  must  answer  them. 

He  moved  quickly  towards  her,  but  she  did  not 
stir.  He  gripped  her  by  the  arm,  looked  deliber- 
ately into  her  face,  then  bent  and  kissed  her.  She 
remained  quite  still,  seeming  merely  to  wait  and 
to  suffer.  She  neither  retreated  nor  responded. 
Passion  died  utterly  in  Peter  at  the  touch  of  her 
smiling  lips.  He  stood  away  from  her,  brutal  and 
chill. 

'  You  asked  me  to  do  that,"  he  said. 

Still  she  smiled,  betraying  no  sign  that  anything 
had  occurred. 

"  You  must  help  me  to  find  the  rabbits,"  she 
said,  looking  away  at  last  towards  the  warren. 
"  We're  losing  the  light." 

There  was  a  suspicion  of  the  fine  lady  in  her 
manner,  assumed  to  deride  him.  They  hunted 
among  the  bracken.  Peter  found  the  dead  rabbits, 
and  they  moved  silently  up  the  hill.  At  the  garden 
gate  they  paused  while  he  handed  over  his  burden. 
Her  face  still  kept  the  maddening  expression  of 
the  moment  when  he  had  kissed  her.  But  Peter's 


160  PETER  PARAGON 

eyes  now  blazed  back  at  her  in  wrath,  and  her 
look  changed  to  one  of  slyly  affected  terror. 

"  Are  you  going  to  kiss  me  again?  "  she  asked. 

"  Not  here,"  Peter  roughly  answered.  '  This 
is  where  you  sing.  I  saw  you  here  yesterday 
evening." 

A  look  of  angry  suspicion  flashed  into  her  eyes 
and  passed. 

"  Men  are  very  rude  and  sudden,"  she  said. 

"  Why  do  you  sing  in  the  dark?  " 

"  I  sing  for  company,"  she  answered. 

She  pass.ed  through  the  gate ;  then  turned,  for  a 
moment,  hesitating: 

"  You  don't  tell  tales?  "  she  abruptly  asked. 

11  No." 

"  The  man  you  saw  last  night,"  she  suggested. 

"  I  did  not  see  him." 

"  He  will  not  come  again.     Not  yet." 

"  It  is  nothing  to  me,"  said  Peter  indifferently. 

"Indeed?"  she  retorted.  "I  thought  you 
asked  why  I  sing  in  the  dark." 

Peter  kept  his  eyes  sullenly  fixed  on  the  ground, 
making  no  answer. 

She  shut  the  gate. 

"  Do  you  really  want  to  know  why  I  sing  in 
the  dark?" 

Peter's  silence  covered  a  wish  to  kill  this 
creature.  There  was  a  long  silence;  and  when  at 
last  he  looked  up,  her  eyes  were  again  mischie- 
vously playing  him.  On  meeting  his  look  of  re- 
sentment and  dislike,  she  inconsequently  asked: 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  161 

"  Have  you  found  a  piece  of  cherry-coloured 
ribbon?" 

Peter  flung  up  his  hands,  and  turned  away  into 
the  garden.  She  had  no  need  to  see  that  he  was 
cursing  her  in  the  shelter  of  the  trees.  She  went 
towards  the  house  crooning  the  song  which  was 
now  intolerable  to  Peter. 


XXIII 

IT  was  arranged  next  morning  at  breakfast  that 
Peter  should  work  in  the  field  with  the  farmer,  and 
that  his  granddaughter  should  clear  the  remains 
of  last  year's  crop  of  hay  from  the  site  of  the  stack 
into  the  loft.  Peter  was  grateful  for  this  division 
of  their  work;  yet,  again,  he  was  strangely  dis- 
appointed. Halfway  through  the  morning,  when 
he  had  done  all  he  could  for  the  farmer,  he  sat 
miserably  in  the  shadow  of  the  hedge,  fighting  a 
blind  impulse  to  look  for  the  girl  whose  presence 
he  detested.  Surely  the  hot  sun  was  burning  into 
his  brain.  He  went  towards  the  house,  meeting 
on  his  way  the  farmer's  wife. 

"  I  wonder  if  you'd  tell  Bess  there's  lunch  wait- 
ing to  be  taken.  I  daren't  leave  the  butter  this 
half-hour." 

"  Where  shall  I  find  her?  "  Peter  asked. 

"  She's  in  the  loft,  to  be  sure." 

Peter  went  slowly  to  the  yard.  He  seemed  to 
be  two  men  —  one  lured  by  the  echo  of  a  song,  the 
other  hanging  upon  his  feet,  unwilling  that  he 
should  move. 

The  last  of  the  stack  had  disappeared  into  the 
loft,  wisps  of  hay  lying  in  a  trail  from  the  foot  of 
the  ladder.  The  yard  was  empty. 

Peter  paused  at  the  ladder's  foot.  Then  began 
slowly  to  climb. 

162 


A  TALE  OF  .YOUTH  163 

She  was  resting  in  a  far  corner,  and  he  did  not 
see  her  till  he  had  stepped  from  the  ladder.  Then 
he  found  himself  looking  down  at  her  stretched  at 
length  upon  piles  of  sweet  hay.  She  had  fallen 
asleep  easily  as  a  cat,  and,  unconscious  of  her  pose, 
was  freely  beautiful.  Her  loveliness  caught  at 
Peter.  Could  she  but  lie  asleep  for  ever,  he  could 
for  ever  watch.  Sleep  had  smoothed  from  her 
features  the  impudent  knowledge  of  her  power. 
Her  beauty  now  lay  softly  upon  her,  held  in  the 
pure  curves  of  her  throat. 

Peter  leaned  breathlessly  towards  her,  filling  his 
eyes.  Had  he  really  feared  this  magic?  Such 
loveliness  as  this  his  soul  had  caught  at  in  scattered 
dreams,  and  now  it  fronted  him,  and  he  had  feared 
to  take  it.  Surely  he  had  fancied  that  the  smile 
of  her  perfect  mouth  was  hateful,  that  her  eyes,  so 
beautifully  lidded,  had  in  their  pride  and  gluttony 
dismayed  him. 

Peter  dropped  softly  beside  her.  She  seemed 
too  like  a  fairy  to  be  rudely  touched.  He  deli- 
cately brushed  her  lips  in  a  kiss  scarcely  to  be  felt. 
She  started  and  sat  upright,  alert  in  every  fibre. 

Peter  saw  again  the  creature  who  had  troubled 
him.  He  was  looking  into  greedy  pools  where  her 
lids  had  seemed  as  curtains  to  hide  an  intolerable 
purity. 

"You  kissed  me?" 

"  It  was  not  you,"  Peter  muttered. 

"  Funny  boy !  How  long  have  you  been 
here?" 


1 64  PETER  PARAGON 

"  I  have  come  to  say  that  lunch  is  waiting." 

"  Peter."  She  sang  the  name  in  her  low  voice, 
as  though  she  were  trying  the  sound  of  it. 

"  You  kissed  me,  Peter.  Tell  me.  How  do  I 
look,  asleep?  " 

Peter  closed  his  eyes. 

"  You  are  beautiful." 

"  Even  you  can  see  that,"  she  flashed. 

Peter  felt  she  was  profaning  her  loveliness. 
He  kept  his  eyes  painfully  closed.  She  looked  at 
him,  partly  in  anger,  partly  in  contempt. 

"  Good  boy.     So  very  good,"  she  murmured. 

As  he  opened  his  eyes,  she  dropped  lightly 
towards  him.  In  a  flash  she  had  taken  his  neck 
between  her  hands,  and  he  felt  her  lips  and  teeth 
upon  the  muscles  of  his  neck,  where  her  eyes  had 
rested  when  first  he  had  read  them. 

Then  she  nestled  there  with  a  little  purr. 

Peter  broke  roughly  away,  and  she  laughed. 

"  Good  boy."  She  mocked  him  again  from  the 
ladder  as  she  went  down. 

Peter  waited  with  clenched  hands  till  the 
trembling  of  the  ladder  had  ceased.  Then  he 
looked  into  the  yard.  She  had  not  yet  disap- 
peared. A  young  farmer  had  ridden  into  the 
drive,  and  was  talking  to  her  from  his  horse.  She 
seemed  to  be  deprecating  his  anger.  They  paused 
in  their  talk  as  Peter  drew  near  them.  The  man 
was  good-looking,  with  honest  eyes.  But  he 
looked  at  Peter  with  angry  suspicion,  carefully 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  165 

searching  his  face,  as  though  he  desired  to  remem- 
ber him  if  they  should  meet  again. 

That  afternoon  Peter  left  the  farm  and  walked 
into  the  country.  Thunder  echoed  among  the 
hills,  seeming  the  voice  of  his  trouble.  He  was 
humiliated  by  the  lure  of  a  woman  he  disliked 
and  feared.  He  vehemently  told  himself  that  he 
would  break  away.  But  he  continually  felt  the 
strong  tug  of  her  sex.  He  shook  under  the 
pressure  of  her  mouth,  his  neck  yet  bitten  with  that 
strange  caress.  He  shunned  the  memory,  yet  re- 
turned to  it,  thrilling  with  an  excitement,  sweet 
even  as  it  stung  him. 

The  thunder  waited  among  the  hills  all  that 
day.  As  the  evening  wore,  and  Peter,  back  at 
the  farm,  watched  the  summer  lightning  come  and 
go,  it  seemed  as  though  batteries  were  closing  in 
from  all  points  of  the  heaven.  But  the  sky  was 
still  open  to  the  stars,  and  there  was  no  rain. 

Peter  stood  with  the  farmer  by  the  garden  gate. 
He  told  Peter  that  the  little  hill  where  they  united 
was  mysteriously  immune,  in  a  tempest,  from  the 
water  which  deluged  the  valley. 

As  Peter,  with  his  thoughts  full  of  the  farmer's 
granddaughter,  listened  to  the  farmer's  tale  of  a 
dry  storm  which,  with  never  a  spot  of  rain,  had 
fired  the  stack  in  the  yard,  it  seemed  as  though, 
now  and  then,  he  could  hear  her  low  singing.  It 
floated  on  the  heavy  air.  Peter  could  scarcely  tell 
whether  it  were  really  her  voice  or  an  echo  in 


1 66  PETER  PARAGON 

his  tired  brain.  He  strained  his  ears,  between  the 
pauses  of  the  farmer's  talk.  The  low  note  swelled 
and  died. 

The  farmer  moved  into  the  house,  and  Peter 
could  more  connectedly  listen.  Now  he  heard  it 
clearly,  a  faint  persistent  singing,  implacably  fasci- 
nating. To  find  that  voice  was  above  all  things 
to  be  desired. 

Peter  listened,  faint  at  heart  with  a  struggle 
which  suddenly  seemed  foolish.  Pleasure  caught 
at  him.  He  saw  her  beautiful,  as  when  she  slept, 
the  low  notes  of  her  voice  breathed  from  lips  that 
were  neither  mocking  nor  cruel.  Her  hands  again 
crept  upon  his  throat,  and  he  did  not  draw  away. 
He  needed  them. 

Where  should  he  find  her?  Peter  went  like  a 
young  animal,  tracking  through  the  dark.  He 
paused,  quietly  alert;  as  he  discovered  that  her 
murmuring  came  from  the  loft  where  he  had  found 
her  sleeping.  He  climbed  the  ladder,  and  stepped 
into  the  darkness.  The  singing  stopped,  and  he 
stood  still  while  his  eyes  measured  the  place.  At 
last  he  saw  her  almost  at  his  feet.  He  dropped 
beside  her  without  a  word.  She  did  not  stir,  but 
said  as  softly  as  though  she  feared  to  frighten 
him  away : 

"  So  you  have  come  to  me?  " 

Her  voice  was  very  gentle.  It  was  the  voice 
of  the  woman  who  had  slept. 

Peter  could  descry  her  now,  half  sitting  against 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  167 

the  hay.  He  perceived  only  the  curve  of  her  face 
and  neck  beautifully  poised  above  him,  for  he  had 
fallen  at  her  feet. 

"  I  cannot  see  you,"  she  said.  "  Are  you  still 
afraid  and  angry?  " 

She  stooped  over  him,  trying  to  read  his  face. 
She  was  very  quiet.  Her  voice  parted  the  still 
air  as  placidly  as  a  dropped  stone  makes  eddies  in 
the  water. 

It  seemed  to  offer  him  an  endless  comfort. 

"  I  had  to  come  to  you,"  he  whispered. 

She  gathered  him  into  her  arms,  and  kissed  him 
as  softly  as  he  had  kissed  her  sleeping.  Peter  felt 
as  though  he  were  sinking.  As  she  drew  her  cool 
hands  across  his  forehead  and  took  his  face  be- 
tween them,  he  found  her  tender  and  compelling, 
and  he  leaned  upon  her  bosom  with  the  waters  of 
pleasure  closing  above  him. 

But  the  girl  had  played  too  long  with  her 
passion.  She  had  met  him  delicately,  deliber- 
ately holding  back  her  greed,  enjoying  the  tumult 
in  herself  and  the  coming  delight  of  throwing  the 
barriers  down.  She  bent  to  kiss  Peter  a  second 
time,  and  Peter  waited  for  the  caress  of  her 
song  made  visible.  But,  even  as  she  stooped, 
there  came  into  her  eyes  a  lust  which  the  darkness 
covered. 

Suddenly  the  veil  was  torn.  A  vivid  flash  of 
lightning  lit  her,  and  flickered  away,  snatched  from 
cloud  to  cloud  above  them.  For  an  instant  Peter 


1 68  PETER  PARAGON 

saw  her  eyes  as  she  stooped  to  him.  Then  dark- 
ness blotted  her  out,  and  her  mouth  closed  down 
upon  him. 

He  struggled  in  her  arms.  She  did  not  measure 
the  strength  of  his  revolt,  but  held  him  fast. 

"  Kiss  me,  Peter." 

The  words  were  hot  upon  his  cheek. 

Peter  put  forth  his  whole  strength,  and  she 
staggered  away  from  him.  There  was  a  short 
silence.  She  had  fallen  back  from  the  excess  of 
his  recoil.  He  saw  her  dimly  rise  from  among 
the  hay. 

"You  beast!" 

The  words  hissed  at  him  in  the  dark.  Venom- 
ous anger  was  in  her  tone,  and  bitter  contempt. 

There  was  a  silence  in  which  their  pulses  could 
be  heard.  Then  she  spoke  again. 

"  Why  did  you  come  to  me?  " 

Peter  could  not  answer.  His  soul  was  a  battle- 
field between  forces  stronger  than  himself.  She 
walked  to  the  door,  and  Peter  stared  vacantly 
at  her  going.  The  next  moment  he  was  alone. 

"  Why  did  you  come  to  me  ?  " 

The  question  beat  at  Peter's  brain  all  through 
the  dreadful  night  Scarcely  had  he  got  back  to 
his  room  than  the  storm  burst  from  the  four 
quarters  with  incredible  light  and  clamour.  But 
Peter's  ears  were  deaf  and  his  eyes  were  blind. 
He  sat  at  his  window,  but  heard  neither  the  rain 
rushing  in  the  valley  below,  nor  the  intolerable 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  169 

din  in  the  sky  above  him  where  still  the  stars  were 
clear. 

Had  he  acted  the  green  fool,  or  was  he  proved 
of  a  finer  clay  than  he  had  allowed?  He  had 
drifted  towards  this  girl  to  take  her,  obeying  the 
blind  motion  of  his  blood.  Then  fiercely  his 
whole  being  had  revolted.  He  could  not  .do  this 
thing.  Was  his  refusal  a  base  fear  of  life?  Had 
he  denied  his  youth  and  the  power  of  passion? 
He  could  not  measure  his  deed.  He  now  saw 
something  fine,  something  consistent  and  strong 
in  the  girl  he  had  refused.  His  own  share  of  the 
story  seemed  only  contemptible.  It  was  even 
absurd.  He  had  ineffectually  played  with  forces 
beyond  him. 

Had  he  really  thwarted  and  denied  his  nature? 
He  asked  it  again  and  again.  He  had  wanted  the 
girl.  He  wanted  her  yet.  But  he  could  not  take 
her  with  his  whole  soul.  Therefore  he  could  not 
take  her  at  all.  What  was  the  meaning  of  this 
ugly  riddle  ?  Why  was  he  monstrously  drawn  to 
a  thing  he  could  not  do  ? 

He  denied  with  his  whole  soul  that  he  lacked 
passion  —  the  gift  without  which  man  is  a  creep- 
ing thing.  His  passion  even  now  outplayed  the 
lightning  which  forked  and  ran  and  fired  the  trees 
in  the  valley. 

Thus  Peter  went  wearily  round  his  conduct  of 
the  last  few  hours,  without  advancing.  Late  in 
the  night  he  packed  to  leave  in  the  morning,  and 


170  PETER  PARAGON 

afterwards  tried  to  sleep.  But  his  tired  brain 
trod  the  old  circle  of  his  thoughts  —  catching  at 
his  sleep  with  pale  gleams  of  speculation,  calling 
him  into  momentary  consciousness,  suffering  him 
only  briefly  to  forget. 

In  the  morning  he  was  flushed  and  uncertain. 
He  shivered  from  time  to  time,  though  the  storm 
had  not  lifted  the  summer  heat.  He  had  never 
felt  so  tired,  and  so  utterly  without  strength  or 
comfort. 


XXIV 

PETER,  finding  the  farmer  and  his  wife  at  break-- 
fast, told  them  he  was  leaving,  and  asked  that  his 
luggage  should  be  taken  to  the  station.  The 
station  was  two  miles  from  the  house,  and  Peter 
started  to  walk.  He  had  turned  into  the  drive, 
and  was  passing  the  last  of  the  farm  buildings, 
when  he  ran  upon  two  figures  vehemently  talking. 
Their  voices  troubled  his  miserable  brooding;  but 
he  was  hardly  yet  aware  of  their  presence  before 
his  way  was  barred.  He  looked  up  from  the 
ground  and  was  confronted  with  a  man  visibly 
blazing  with  anger. 

He  looked  aside  for  an  explanation,  and  saw 
that  the  man  had  been  talking  with  the  farmer's 
granddaughter.  She  was  watching  them  with  ex- 
pressionless eyes,  but  with  a  cold  satisfaction 
hiding  in  the  line  of  her  mouth. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  said  Peter,  making 
an  attempt  to  pass. 

He  looked  swiftly  from  one  to  the  other,  recog- 
nising his  opponent  as  the  man  he  had  seen  talking 
from  his  horse  in  the  yard  yesterday. 

The  man  struck  at  Peter  with  his  whip. 

Peter  caught  the  blow  on  his  arm,  and  flung  out 
his  fists. 

"  What's  your  quarrel  with  me?  "  asked  Peter. 

"  Well  you  know  it,"  said  the  man. 
171 


172  PETER  PARAGON 

Peter  turned  to  the  farmer's  granddaughter. 
She  smiled  at  him,  and  he  understood.  He  was 
filled  with  a  desolating  sense  of  the  futility  of 
resisting  the  event. 

"  I've  no  quarrel  with  you,"  he  drearily  pro- 
tested to  the  man,  "  why  do  you  force  it?  " 

"  It's  late  to  talk  of  forcing." 

"  Forcing?     I  don't  understand." 

Again  Peter  turned  to  the  woman.  Her 
metallic  outfacing  of  his  question  flashed  the  truth 
at  him. 

"  He  knows  that  you  have  insulted  me." 

The  words  came  from  her  on  a  low  malicious 
note. 

"  Are  you  going  to  fight?  "  the  man  blazed  at 
him,  flinging  his  weapon  to  the  ground.  "  Or 
are  you  going  to  take  that?  "  He  pointed  to  the 
whip  lying  between  them. 

Peter  flung  off  his  coat.  Standing  in  the  sun,  he 
felt  weak  and  vague.  He  swayed  a  little.  He 
felt  he  must  get  away  from  the  intolerable  heat. 
He  looked  into  the  shed  beside  them,  and  the  man 
nodded. 

They  went  in  and  faced  each  other  upon  a  dusty 
floor  of  uneven  stone.  The  girl  sat  on  Peter's 
coat,  indecently  fascinated.  The  man  looked 
grimly  at  Peter's  strong  arms  and  professional 
attitude.  But  Peter  was  faint  and  sick.  He  saw 
his  fists  before  him  as  though  they  belonged  to 
another  —  white  and  blurred.  Dreamily  he  real- 
ised that  a  blow  had  started  upon  him  out  of  the 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  173 

grey  air.  He  met  it  with  an  instinctive  guard; 
but  he  weakly  smiled  to  feel  something  heavy  and 
strong  break  through  his  arm  like  paper.  Then 
everything  was  blotted  out. 

In  a  moment  the  man  was  kneeling  beside  him, 
astonished  at  the  strange  collapse  of  his  opponent. 
Peter  had  gone  down  like  a  sack,  striking  his  head 
on  the  stone  floor.  The  man  had  hardly  touched 
him.  Indeed,  he  had  himself  nearly  fallen  with 
the  impetus  of  a  blow  which  had  fallen  upon 
the  air. 

He  felt  Peter's  pulse  and  forehead,  awed  by  his 
stillness  and  the  stare  of  his  eyes.  The  girl  was 
now  beside  him. 

"  Quick,"  she  said.  "  Run  to  the  house.  We 
must  get  him  to  bed." 

The  man  looked  at  her,  hard  and  stern. 

"  You're  a  bit  too  anxious,"  he  said. 

"  Can't  you  see?     The  boy's  dying." 

He  looked  implacably  into  her  eyes. 

"  Let  the  blackguard  lie." 

"Fool!" 

She  almost  spat  at  hinv  with  a  gesture  of  im- 
patient agony  for  Peter  on  the  floor. 

"  You've  been  lying  to  me,"  suddenly  said  the 
man. 

She  did  not  answer,  but  he  persisted : 

"  You  told  me " 

"  He  did  not." 

He  lifted  his  hand  to  strike  her.  She  did  not 
flinch,  but  said  quietly: 


174  PETER  PARAGON 

"  Who's  the  blackguard  now?  " 

He  turned  and  walked  swiftly  from  the  shed. 
She  heard  him  running  to  the  house,  and  took 
Peter's  head  on  her  lap.  His  lips  were  moving. 
Compassion  stirred  in  her  —  a  sensual  compas- 
sion, feeding  upon  her  complete  possession  of 
Peter,  helplessly  at  her  pleasure. 

The  man  returned  with  the  farmer's  cart,  and 
Peter  was  taken  to  the  house.  A  telegram  was 
sent  to  Hamingburgh,  and  the  local  doctor  was 
called.  He  said  that  Peter  had  had  a  stroke  of 
the  sun.  He  was  in  a  raging  fever.  The 
farmer's  granddaughter  was  occasionally  left  with 
him. 

She  sat  for  several  hours  beside  the  bed  watch- 
ing Peter's  restless  and  feeble  movements. 
Sometimes  she  heard  him  talking  vaguely  and 
softly,  but  for  long  she  could  catch  no  syllable  of 
what  he  said.  Again  she  was  stirred  with  de- 
licious pity.  She  put  her  hands  upon  his  cheeks, 
and  leaned  over  his  stirring  lips  for  a  long  hour. 
Then  suddenly  she  began  to  hear  what  he  was 
saying,  piecing  his  broken  words. 

He  was  walking  alone  in  a  dark  house.  It  was 
very  dark  and  quite  still  except  for  the  dripping 
of  water  into  a  cistern.  Peter  always  returned  to 
this  dripping  water.  He  was  looking  for  some- 
one, and  he  stood  where  she  used  to  sleep.  At 
last  a  strange  name  came  to  his  tongue  —  endlessly 
repeated. 

The  listening  girl  drew  away  from  him.     She 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  175 

went  to  the  window  to  get  beyond  range  of  his 
voice.  She  was  empty  and  thwarted.  The  name 
pursued  her  and  she  turned  back  to  the  bed. 
Maddened  by  his  repeated  murmur,  she  felt  as  if 
she  were  fighting  for  a  place  in  his  mind.  She 
put  her  hand  upon  his  mouth,  trying  to  still  the 
name  upon  his  lips.  But  she  felt  them  moving 
under  the  touch  of  her  fingers,  with  the  syllables 
that  shut  her  out. 

She  dropped  on  her  knees  beside  him,  becoming 
a  part  of  his  madness. 

"  Here  is  the  woman  you  want,"  she  sang  to 
him.  Tears  of  vexation  and  jealousy  —  quick  as 
a  child's  —  started  down  her  face. 

"  Peter,  boy,  don't  you  remember?  You  came 
to  me,  and  dropped  in  the  hay.  I  sang  to  you  in 
the  dark,  and  you  came." 

But  Peter  stood  in  a  dark  house,  muttering  a 
name  she  had  never  heard.  Now  he  was  striking 
matches  one  after  another,  peering  into  the  empty 
corners  of  a  deserted  room.  Then  he  spoke  of 
an  attic  with  rafters,  and  again  of  the  dripping 
water. 

The  girl  looked  into  his  vacant  eyes. 

"  Can't  you  see  me,  Peter?  " 

It  was  someone  else  he  saw:  he  talked  now  of 
her  dusty  frock  and  of  a  garden  where  he  sat 
and  waited. 

The  woman  by  the  bed  could  not  come  between 
him  and  this  lovely  ghost.  She  strained  Peter 
towards  her,  and  put  her  face  to  his  cheek. 


176  PETER  PARAGON 

"No,  Peter;  it's  me  that  is  here.  Can't  you 
feel  that  I  am  holding  you?  " 

Her  pressure  started  in  him  another  disordered 
memory.  He  struggled  against  her,  and  raised 
himself  upon  an  elbow.  His  eyes  looked  quite 
through  her.  He  saw  her  in  his  brain,  but  he  did 
not  see  her  in  the  room  before  him.  The  girl 
shuddered  to  hear  him  struggling  with  a  mirage 
of  herself.  He  was  back  in  the  loft.  At  first  she 
thought  it  was  the  sight  of  her  visibly  before  him 
in  the  room  that  caused  him  to  speak  of  her.  She 
drew  back,  and  with  a  shudder  saw  he  was  talking 
to  the  air. 

"  You  are  not  Miranda,"  he  said,  accusing  the 
shape  of  his  brain.  "  She  smiled,  but  she  did  not 
smile  like  that." 

The  girl  could  no  longer  endure  it.  She  went 
from  the  room,  and,  till  Mrs.  Paragon  came,  the 
farmer's  wife  sat  beside  him. 


XXV 

MRS.  PARAGON  arrived  late  in  the  afternoon. 
Peter  could  not  be  made  to  perceive  her,  and  a 
physician  was  sent  for  from  London. 

Mrs.  Paragon  sat  with  Peter  through  the  night, 
stifling  her  fear.  His  talk  perplexed  her  in  the 
extreme.  The  empty  house  where  he  wandered 
became  as  real  to  her  as  the  room  in  which  she 
sat.  He  had  gone  there  to  find  Miranda,  and 
this  it  was  that  so  grieved  and  puzzled  his  mother. 
Peter  had  never  once  spoken  of  Miranda  since  the 
night  he  had  arranged  to  go  to  London  for  the  first 
time.  She  did  not  think  he  had  of  late  thought 
of  Miranda.  Had  he  been  eating  his  heart  in 
secret? 

The  farmer's  granddaughter  waited  upon  Mrs. 
Paragon  through  the  night.  They  talked  only  of 
his  condition,  but  Mrs.  Paragon  noted  her  extreme 
interest  in  the  patient. 

Towards  the  morning  they  were  together  by  the 
bedside.  Peter  had  begun  again  to  talk,  and  Mrs. 
Paragon  suddenly  saw  the  girl  shrink  away. 
Then  almost  immediately  she  turned  and  left  the 
room. 

Mrs.  Paragon  bent  to  listen.  Peter  was  tread- 
ing again  the  weary  round  of  his  thoughts  of  the 

177 


i78  PETER  PARAGON 

preceding  day.     After  a  few  moments  his  mother's 
face  became  very  thoughtful. 

When  in  the  morning  the  girl  brought  her  some 
breakfast,  she  said  to  her  quietly: 

"  How  long  have  you  been  here?  " 

"  Two  days."     Already  the  girl  knew  she  was 
detected. 

"  What  has  happened  to  my  son?" 

"  How  am  I  to  know  better  than  the  doctor?  " 
she  countered. 

"  You  know  very  well  indeed." 

"  He  is  nothing  to  me." 

Mrs.  Paragon  inexorably  faced  her: 

"How  could  you  be  so  wicked?"  she  said  in 
a  low  voice. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 
'  You  are  not  surprised  when  I  talk  to  you  of 
my  son,  and  you  have  been  here  only  two  days." 

Peter's  mother  stood  like  marble.     The  girl  saw 
she  was  open  to  be  read.     Her  pride  was  broken. 

"  Do  not  send  me  away,"  she  pleaded.     "  I 
must  know  whether  he  lives  or  dies." 

"  What  right  have  you  to  know?  " 

The  girl  was  silent,  and  Mrs.  Paragon  shivered. 
She  hardly  dared  be  made  sure. 

"  Has  my  son  belonged  to  you?  " 

11  No." 

The  girl  hated  to  confess  it,  but  quickly  used  it 
as  a  plea : 

"  Now  will  you  let  me  stay?  "  she  entreated. 

Mrs.  Paragon  turned  coldly  away. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  179 

"  Please  go,"  she  commanded. 

The  girl  was  struck  into  a  hopeless  humility. 

"  I  will  not  trouble  him  again,"  she  pleaded. 

"  I  myself  shall  see  to  that." 

Mrs.  Paragon  spoke  calmly,  and  did  not  stir. 
Peter  lay  on  the  bed  safely  in  her  shadow. 

The  girl  looked  her  farewell  at  him  and 
passed  out. 

The  specialist  from  London  arrived  before 
noon.  He  at  once  took  a  cheerful  view.  After 
listening  to  the  local  doctor's  account  of  Peter's 
night,  and  examining  the  patient  himself,  he  re- 
lieved Mrs.  Paragon  of  her  fears. 

"  What's  the  boy  been  doing?  "  he  asked,  after 
deciding  there  was  nothing  to  keep  him  in  Wor- 
cestershire. "  This  might  well  be  mistaken  for  a 
touch  of  the  sun,"  he  said,  smiling  at  the  local 
man,  "  but  it's  not  quite  so  simple.  It  looks  as  if 
he'd  been  trying  to  put  himself  straight  with 
things,  and  not  quite  succeeded.  He's  suffering 
from  acute  mental  excitement,  but  he's  a  healthy 
youngster  and  his  temperature's  falling.  He 
won't  talk  any  more." 

"  There's  a  thing  that  rather  puzzles  me, 
doctor,"  Mrs.  Paragon  hesitated. 

"Well?" 

"  My  son  has  been  troubled,  greatly  troubled, 
by  someone  here,  but  most  of  his  talk  was  about 
someone  else." 

"  I  don't  quite  understand." 

"He  has  talked  of  a  girl  I  thought  he  had 


i8o  PETER  PARAGON 

forgotten.  At  least  I  did  not  think  she  had  lately 
been  in  his  mind." 

"  Very  likely  not,  Mrs.  Paragon.  The  mind's 
not  at  all  a  simple  thing.  Usually  in  cases  like  this 
the  memories  which  come  uppermost  are  things 
forgotten.  We  call  it  the  subconscious  self. 
This  girl  your  son  has  been  talking  about  —  prob- 
ably he  does  not  know  that  he  remembers  her. 
Perhaps  —  of  course  I  don't  know  all  the  circum- 
stances—  he  has  not  thought  of  her  for  years. 
But  evidently  she  is  a  vital  memory.  She  is  sleep- 
ing in  his  mind.  Pardon  my  running  on  like  this," 
the  doctor  concluded,  smiling,  "  but  you  look 
interested." 

"  I  think  I  understand." 

"  Is  that  all  you  want  to  know?  " 

"  You  are  sure  he  is  quite  safe?  " 

"  There's  nothing  to  be  anxious  about.  He 
only  wants  well  nursing." 

The  doctor  paused  and  looked  keenly  at  Mrs. 
Paragon. 

"  You  are  very  proud  of  him,"  he  suggested. 

"  Prouder  to-day  than  ever." 

"  He  looks  quite  a  splendid  fellow.  Send  for 
me  if  anything  goes  seriously  wrong." 

Mrs.  Paragon  now  sat  happily  with  Peter,  for 
he  grew  continually  calmer,  and  she  felt  he  was 
safe.  A  proud  content  sank  deep  into  her  heart 
as  she  put  together  the  story  of  these  last  days. 
She  pondered  also  the  doctor's  words,  and  won- 
dered whether  Peter  had  consciously  called 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  181 

Miranda  to  his  help.  Or  did  she  lurk  as  a  secret 
angel  under  the  surface  of  his  life? 

Forty-eight  hours  later  Peter  woke  from  a  long 
sleep,  and  found  his  mother  beside  him.  He  did 
not  stir,  but  just  accepted  her.  He  felt  too  weak 
to  talk,  and,  taking  some  food,  went  immediately 
to  sleep  again. 

Next  time  he  woke  Mrs.  Paragon  was  not  in 
the  room,  the  farmer's  wife  having  taken  charge 
for  a  moment.  Peter  raised  himself  on  one  elbow, 
wondering  to  feel  himself  so  weak. 

"  How  long  have  I  been  like  this?  "  he  asked. 
"  I  feel  as  if  I'd  been  in  bed  for  a  year." 

"  You're  all  right  now,  lad.  You've  been  too 
much  in  the  hot  sun  and  got  a  touch  o'  fever." 

Peter  looked  round  the  room. 

"  Didn't  I  see  my  mother  here?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  did,  to  be  sure.  We  sent  for  her  when 
you  were  took  with  the  heat.  It  was  Bess  that 
found  you,  lying  in  the  road." 

Peter  remembered  now  how  and  where  he 
had  fallen. 

Mrs.  Paragon  came  in  at  that  moment,  and  the 
farmer's  wife  greeted  her. 

"  The  lad's  awake,  and  talking  like  a  Christian." 

Mrs.  Paragon  came  and  kissed  him,  the 
farmer's  wife  softly  leaving  them  together.  Peter 
looked  tranquilly  at  his  mother. 

"  I'm  afraid  I've  frightened  you,"  he  said  at 
last. 

"  Only  for  a  little  while,"  she  reassured  him. 


1 82  PETER  PARAGON 

"  What  time  is  it?  I  mean,  how  long  have  you 
been  here?  " 

"  Only  three  days." 

"  It  feels  like  a  hundred  years,"  said  Peter. 
"  As  if  it  had  all  happened  to  someone  else. 
There  was  a  girl  here,  mother.  Where  is  she 
now?" 

"  She  has  gone  away." 

Peter  sank  peacefully  back.  After  a  while  his 
mother  said  to  him : 

"  Have  you  been  grieving  for  anyone,  Peter, 
during  these  last  years?  " 

"  Grieving?  "  Peter  was  making  diagrams  of 
the  cracks  and  stains  on  the  ceiling. 

"  You've  been  talking,  Peter." 

"What  have  I  been  talking  about?"  he  idly 
inquired. 

*  You've  been  talking  about  your  troubles." 

"  I  haven't  any  troubles."  Peter  turned  from 
the  cealing  to  his  mother's  face,  feeling  how 
pleasant  it  was  to  see  her  there. 

'  You've  been  talking  about  someone  who 
troubled  you,"  Mrs.  Paragon  persisted. 

"  But,  mother,"  he  objected,  "  you  tell  me  she 
has  gone  away." 

"  There  is  no  one  else?  " 

"  No  one  at  all." 

Peter  lived  deliciously  for  a  week  with  his 
mother  in  the  shaded  room.  He  never  seemed  to 
have  felt  so  happy.  His  mind  was  content  to  be 
idle.  When  he  was  tired  of  collecting  into  groups 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  183 

the  roses  on  the  wall-paper,  or  watching  for  hours 
the  blue  square  of  the  window  across  which  once 
or  twice  in  a  day  a  bird  would  fly,  he  would  ask 
his  mother  to  read  to  him  old  tales  of  Ainsworth 
and  Marryat.  He  affected  an  imperious  self- 
indulgence. 

It  was  decided  at  last  that  Peter  was  strong 
enough  for  the  journey  home.  Cordial  thanks 
and  farewells  were  exchanged  with  the  farmer  and 
his  wife.  Peter  even  left  a  kind  message  for  the 
farmer's  granddaughter,  who  had  fled  for  fear  of 
infection.  He  no  longer  thought  of  her  as  one 
who  could  trouble  him. 


XXVI 

PETER  soon  picked  up  his  strength  at  Haming- 
burgh.  Three  weeks  passed  and  he  thought  of 
returning  to  London.  Then  came  a  letter  from 
Marbury. 

His  uncle  had  applied  for  the  Chiltern  Hun- 
dreds, and  Marbury  was  to  stand  at  once  in  a 
contested  by-election.  He  lightly  but  cordially 
asked  Peter  to  come  and  stay  with  him  through  the 
fight  and  meet  some  of  the  distinguished  people  it 
would  draw  into  the  constituency. 

Peter  eagerly  accepted.  Next  day  he  met  Mar- 
bury  at  York,  leaving  the  train  to  avoid  a  tedious 
slow  journey  of  forty  miles. 

Lord  Haversham's  principal  seat  was  at  High- 
bury Towers,  a  lonely  house  on  the  edge  of  a 
moor.  The  nearest  town  was  ten  miles  away. 

It  was  a  fortress  of  civilisation  planted  in  a 
wilderness.  In  a  bad  winter,  with  snow  lying 
deep,  it  was  sometimes  cut  off  for  days  from  the 
world  outside. 

;t  There's  something  impudent  about  the  place," 
said  Marbury,  as  the  car  rushed  over  the  moors. 
"  It  flies  in  the  face  of  Nature.  The  Towers  is 
the  most  comfortable  home  in  England,  and  it  is 
in  a  desert." 

"  A  very  beautiful  desert,"  said  Peter.  He  was 
184 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  185 

feasting  on  the  superb  line  of  a  moor-end,  red 
with  the  heather. 

'  You  must  see  it  in  the  winter.  I  went  through 
last  election  with  my  uncle.  It  was  December, 
and  we  did  well  if  we  managed  to  keep  half  our 
appointments." 

*  Tell  me  about  your  uncle." 

"  He's  dying,  Peter."  Marbury  conveyed  this 
as  a  simple  fact.  He  did  not  intend  an  effect. 

*  You  mean  that  he's  very  ill,"  suggested  Peter. 
"  I  mean  that  he's  dying.     The  doctors  give  him 

six  months  or  a  year  in  Egypt.  Here  they  allow 
him  till  the  autumn." 

'  When  is  he  going  away?  " 

"  He  isn't  going  away,"  answered  Marbury. 
"  He  thinks  it  worth  while  to  die  at  home." 
Again  Marbury  spoke  without  insisting  in  the  least 
on  the  heroic  implication  of  his  words. 

"  But  six  months  of  life  and  the  sun,"  protested 
Peter. 

"  Six  months  is  not  long.  We  have  lived  at 
Highbury  for  a  thousand  years.  Besides,  my 
uncle  wants  things  to  go  smoothly  when  he  dies. 
He  is  posting  me  up  in  the  estate  —  all  the  small 
traditional  things." 

Marbury  talked  of  these  things  with  a  curious 
tranquillity.  He  simply  recorded  them.  He  fell 
very  silent;  and  at  the  journey's  end  looked  with 
interest  at  the  large  old  house  at  which  they  had 
arrived. 

Marbury  took  Peter  upstairs  to  a  room  beside 


1 86  PETER  PARAGON 

his  own,  and  left  to  dress  quickly  for  dinner.  He 
would  come  back  for  Peter  and  show  him  the  way 
down.  When  Peter  was  ready,  he  stood  for  a 
few  minutes  at  the  window.  He  looked  on  to  a 
terrace  and  a  garden  which  ended  abruptly  and 
fell  suddenly  to  the  moor.  At  the  end  of  the 
terrace,  magnificently  poised  and  fronting  desola- 
tion, was  the  copy  of  a  famous  statue  by  a  contem- 
porary sculptor,  audaciously  asserting  the  triumph 
of  art  —  the  figure  of  a  naked  youth  superbly 
defiant. 

Soon  Marbury  joined  Peter  at  the  window  and 
put  a  hand  affectionately  on  his  shoulder. 

"  That's  what  I  mean,"  he  said,  following 
Peter's  look  towards  the  statue  in  silhouette 
against  the  moor,  "  when  I  say  that  this  place 
seems  to  fly  in  Nature's  face.  He's  insolent,  don't 
you  think?  He's  looking  over  thirty  miles  of 
moor  —  not  a  house  between  himself  and  the  open 
sea.  In  the  winter  the  snow  piles  up  against  him, 
and  storms  bang  into  him  from  the  German  Ocean. 
He  is  the  last  exquisite  word  of  the  twentieth  cen- 
tury asserting  our  mastery  over  all  that." 

Marbury  waved  his  arm  towards  the  open  moor, 
and  laughed  an  apology: 

"  He  usually  works  me  up  like  that.  Let's  have 
some  dinner." 

They  went  down,  and  Peter  was  made  ac- 
quainted with  many  people  whose  names  he  tried 
to  remember.  His  mind  was  whirling  with  im- 
pressions, unable  to  settle  upon  anything  definite 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  187 

till,  at  dinner,  he  had  had  time  to  recover  from 
a  sensation  of  being  too  much  honoured.  This 
sensation  had  invaded  him  at  being  introduced  by 
Marbury  to  an  exquisite  young  woman. 

"  Peter,"  he  said,  "  this  is  my  sister.  Look 
after  him,  Mary,  and  tell  him  who  everybody  is." 

Then  Marbury  had  disappeared,  leaving  Peter 
shyly  rising  to  her  light  chatter. 

'  The  house  is  packed,  and  there  are  beds  at 
the  home-farm,"  she  said  as  they  sat  to  the  table. 
"  Everybody  is  rushing  to  help  Antony." 

"  Antony?  "  Peter  echoed  in  a  puzzled  way. 

"  Don't  you  know  his  name?  "  she  asked,  look- 
ing towards  Marbury. 

"  I'm  afraid  not,"  Peter  confessed. 

"  But  he  called  you  Peter." 

"  Everybody  calls  me  Peter." 

;<  Why  does  everybody  do  that?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     Everybody  does." 

Peter  was  beginning  to  enjoy  himself.  Lady 
Mary  smiled  into  his  frank  eyes,  liking  the  direct 
way  in  which  they  looked  at  her. 

They  paused  as  Haversham  came  in  to  dinner. 
His  empty  chair  always  stood  at  the  head  of  the 
table.  Sometimes  he  was  unable  at  the  last 
moment  to  come  down,  but  he  never  allowed  any- 
one to  wait  or  to  inquire. 

Peter  looked  at  him  with  interest.  He  was  yet 
at  the  prime,  but  grey  and  frail.  His  features 
were  proud  and  delicate,  his  voice  gravely  pene- 
trating. He  was  too  far  from  Peter  for  his  con- 


1 88  PETER  PARAGON 

versation  to  be  heard,  but  he  talked  with  lit  face 
and  a  frequent  smile.  Sometimes,  however,  he 
fell  silent,  and  Peter  thought  he  detected  the 
strained  inward  look  of  one  struggling  with 
physical  pain. 

"  You  don't  know  Uncle  Eustace  ?  "  said  Lady 
Mary,  following  Peter's  look. 

"Not  yet." 

"  He  will  do  you  good." 

"  Antony  was  telling  me  about  him  on  the  way 
down." 

They  talked  through  dinner  of  indifferent 
things.  The  accent  of  conscious  culture  which 
Peter  now  cordially  hated  was  missing.  Yet  the 
talk  was  alive  —  happily  vivid  and  agreeable. 
No  one  seemed  anxious  to  make  an  effort  or  to 
press  home  a  conviction.  Nor  was  Peter  aware 
of  words  anxiously  picked.  He  was  unable  yet  to 
name  his  impression.  He  only  knew  that  he 
talked  more  frankly  of  small  things  than  he  had 
talked  before. 

He  noticed  in  a  series  of  pleasant  discoveries 
how  beautiful  was  the  setting  of  their  talk.  Lord 
Haversham  had  at  Highbury  brought  the  art  of 
fine  living  to  perfection.  He  had  filled  the  place 
with  costly  things,  without  anywhere  suggesting 
unreasonable  luxury.  Highbury  Towers  grew 
upon  the  visitor.  Even  as  a  guest  began  to 
wonder  why  he  never  seemed  to  have  dined  so 
well  and  been  less  brutally  aware  of  it,  he  per- 
ceived that  the  glass  he  fingered  was  lovely  and 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  189 

rare,  that  it  consonantly  set  off  the  china  bowl 
which  neighboured  it,  and  the  ancient  candlesticks 
to  left  and  right.  Haversham  had  always  held 
that  true  luxury  was  not  insistent,  and  he  was  never 
so  disappointed  as  when  his  guest  broke  into  a 
compliment  of  a  particular  object.  Had  it  per- 
fectly agreed,  fitting  its  environment,  the  mood  of 
the  conversation,  the  temperament  of  the  party 
for  which  it  was  designed,  it  would,  he  urged,  have 
passed  unnoticed.  It  would  have  made  its  effect 
without  directly  speaking. 

Peter  was  filled  with  an  adventurous  sense  of 
novelty.  He  had  not  met  people  quite  like  these 
before.  What  was  it  which  so  clearly  distin- 
guished this  company  from  any  he  had  yet 
frequented?  Clearly  it  was  not  their  manners. 
Opposite  Peter  was  a  peer  who  took  most  of  his 
soup  indirectly  by  way  of  a  long  moustache,  who 
wisely  sat  with  his  napkin  well  tucked  in  at  the 
neck.  His  face  reminded  Peter  of  the  farmer 
with  whom  he  had  lately  laboured  in  the  field; 
his  talk  was  mostly  of  dogs,  his  vocabulary  limited 
and  racy.  Yet  he  quite  obviously  went  with  the 
silver,  whereas  Peter  could  think  of  a  dozen  men 
he  knew  —  men  who  had  not  only  learned  to  feed 
with  discretion,  but  had  read  all  the  most  refined 
literature  in  three  or  four  languages,  and  could 
talk  like  people  in  a  stage  drawing-room  —  who 
quite  obviously  would  have  jarred. 

Peter  comfortably  surrendered  to  the  charm  of 
an  atmosphere  quietly  genial  and  free.  The 


190  PETER  PARAGON 

machinery  alone  of  this  new  life  pleased  and 
fascinated.  He  felt  that  a  beautifully  ordered 
system  had  taken  charge  of  him,  that  henceforth 
he  had  only  to  suffer  himself  to  be  moved  com- 
fortably through  the  day,  that  life  was  now  a  series 
of  artfully  arranged  opportunities  for  free  expres- 
sion in  suitable  surroundings.  This  feeling  had 
first  invaded  him  as  at  York  he  had  seen  his 
baggage  mysteriously  vanishing,  by  no  act  of  his 
own,  into  a  strange  car  which  started  off  even  as 
he  himself  was  being  wrapped  in  warm  rugs  for 
the  race  to  Highbury.  It  was  confirmed  later, 
when,  reaching  his  room  with  Marbury,  he  had 
found  the  things  which  had  so  swiftly  vanished  at 
York  faultlessly  spread  for  his  evening  wear. 
Peter  was  rapidly  putting  forth  roots  in  this  new 
soil.  Every  moment  some  unexpected  thing  ap- 
peared, to  be  at  once  included  in  his  total  impres- 
sion of  a  new  life,  to  become  part  of  the  common 
round. 

There  was  nothing  snobbish  in  Peter's  delight. 
He  already  desired  to  know  these  people  better. 
But  he  was  not  in  the  least  aware  of  anything 
which  could  be  described  as  a  social  aspiration. 
He  liked  his  new  friends  because  they  were  new; 
and  because  they  behaved  differently  from  any  he 
had  as  yet  encountered.  They  were  continually 
surprising  him  in  small  ways.  More  particularly 
he  was  startled  by  the  intimacy  and  freedom  of 
their  talk.  Their  conversation  was  innocent  of 
periphrasis  and  free  from  uncomfortable  reserve. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  191 

Peter  had  heard  nothing  like  it  since  he  had  talked 
with  the  old  farmer  under  the  hedge  of  his  seven 
acre  field. 

When  the  men  were  alone,  Marbury  called 
Peter  to  the  head  of  the  table  and  introduced  him 
to  his  uncle.  Peter  looked  with  an  ardent  respect 
at  one  who  already  had  touched  his  imagination. 

"  I've  heard  of  you,"  said  Lord  Haversham 
as  Peter  felt  for  a  chair.  "  You're  the  man 
who  forcibly  removed  the  Lord  Chamberlain's 
trousers." 

"  It  wasn't  the  Lord  Chamberlain,"  said  Peter 
nervously. 

Lord  Haversham  turned  to  Marbury:  "I'm 
sure  you  told  me  it  was  a  protest  against  the 
censorship  of  stage  plays." 

"  That,  Uncle,  was  another  small  affair." 

"  Then  whose  were  the  trousers  ?  "  persisted 
Haversham. 

"  They  belonged  to  a  Junior  Prior,"  said  miser- 
able Peter. 

"  What  was  the  protest  this  time?  " 

"  Equality  of  treatment  under  the  law,"  sug- 
gested Marbury.  "  But  you're  making  Peter  un- 
comfortable. He  doesn't  like  to  remember  that 
he  was  once  a  man  of  ideas." 

Haversham  looked  meditatively  at  Peter:  "It 
must  be  splendid  to  believe  so  thoroughly  in  an 
idea  that  you  are  ready  to  remove  the  trousers  of 
a  Junior  Prior." 

"  I  was  drunk,"  said  Peter  bluntly. 


i92  PETER  PARAGON 

"  Does  that  also  explain  the  Lord  Chamber- 
lain?" asked  Haversham,  beginning  to  be 
interested. 

"  No,"  said  Peter.     "  Then  I  was  only  a  fool." 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it."  Lord  Haver- 
sham  turned  to  Marbury :  "  Why  does  he  say  these 
things?" 

"  Peter  is  a  bad  case,  Uncle.  He  runs  all  his 
ideas  to  death,  and  sickens  at  sight  of  the  corpse. 
I  read  Peter  two  years  ago.  He  was  born  young." 

"  I'm  afraid  he'll  very  soon  exhaust  Highbury," 
said  Lord  Haversham,  smiling. 

11  No,"  blurted  Peter. 

"  We  haven't  any  ideas,"  said  Haversham 
quaintly.  "  We  grow  on  the  soil  here,  labourers 
and  landlords.  Tony,"  he  went  on,  putting  his 
hand  affectionately  on  Marbury's  arm,  "  is  almost 
perfectly  the  Radical's  notion  of  a  stupid  squire. 
You  never  think,  do  you,  Tony?  You're  just 
choked  full  of  prejudices  you  can't  explain.  I'm 
ashamed  of  you,  Tony.  You  remind  me  so  per- 
fectly of  the  sort  of  fool  I  was  myself  thirty  years 
ago." 

Lord  Haversham  looked  at  his  nephew.  There 
was  a  beautiful  tenderness  in  his  address.  Almost 
as  he  spoke,  an  expression  of  great  pain  came  into 
his  eyes. 

"  I  must  leave  you  now,"  he  said.  "  We  will 
talk  again." 

He  quietly  slipped  from  the  room,  and  the  con- 
versation was  broken  up. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  193 

Peter,  in  the  later  solitude  of  his  room,  sat 
meditating  at  length  upon  his  evening.  He  could 
not  yet  define  what  he  liked  in  Marbury's  friends, 
but  he  felt  his  personal  need  of  it.  He  lacked 
the  frank  nature  and  ease,  the  lightness  and  dex- 
terity of  these  people.  He  trod  too  heavily, 
delivering  his  sentiments  with  a  weight  which 
was  out  of  keeping.  He  felt  he  must  get  out  of 
the  habit  —  a  habit  which  did  not  express  or 
become  him  —  of  taking  too  seriously  the  frequent 
appeal  for  his  views  on  this  or  that.  What,  after 
all,  were  these  views  that  had  always  mattered 
so  much?  He  saw  his  late  companions  at 
dinner  as  merry  figures  seated  about  a  pool,  idly 
throwing  in  pebbles  to  keep  the  water  agreeably 
astir.  Conversation,  it  seemed,  was  not  something 
to  be  captured  and  led.  It  was  an  agreeable 
adventure  in  which  the  universe  was  sociably  ex- 
plored. The  final  word,  which  Peter  so  fre- 
quently was  tempted  to  deliver,  should  never  be 
spoken,  for,  after  the  final  word,  what  more  could 
decently  be  said? 


XXVII 

THE  next  morning  Peter  was  early  in  the  break- 
fast room.  Only  Lady  Mary  was  there.  She 
was  looking  for  weather  at  the  window. 

"  Let  me  get  you  some  breakfast,"  said  Peter, 
after  they  had  greeted. 

"  Not  for  the  world,"  she  answered,  lifting  lids 
at  a  side  table.  "  I  love  breakfast.  It's  the  only 
time  when  food  seems  to  matter.  I  wouldn't  think 
of  letting  anybody  choose  my  breakfast." 

"  There,  at  any  rate,  we  agree,"  said  Peter. 

"  Do  you  like  breakfast,  too?  " 

"  It's  an  Oxford  habit." 

"  Then  you  haven't  given  up  Oxford  alto- 
gether?" said  Lady  Mary,  speaking  as  one  who 
had  heard  something. 

"  Do  you  know  all  about  me,  like  everybody 
else?" 

Peter  groaned. 

"  Of  course.  You  don't  know  how  famous  you 
are.  Everybody  knows  you  were  sent  down  from 
Gamaliel  for  being  a  Socialist." 

"  I  am  not  a  Socialist,"  Peter  hotly  protested. 

Lady  Mary's  eyes  were  full  of  mischief:  "  You 
must  have  been  sent  down  for  being  something." 

"  I'm  nothing  at  all,"  said  Peter. 

"  Are  you  quite  sure?  " 
194 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  195 

"  The  silliest  person  alive  is  more  than  a  label." 

Peter  cursed  himself.  He  had  again  delivered 
an  apothegm.  Why  must  he  always  be  so  heavily 
serious  ?  Lady  Mary  was  openly  smiling. 

"  I'm  afraid  we're  all  going  to  be  very  silly  at 
Highbury  during  the  next  few  days.  We've 
simply  got  to  label  ourselves  for  Antony's  sake." 

"  Tories,"  said  Peter,  trying  to  be  nice,  "  are 
exceptions." 

"  You  mean  that  Tories  don't  count?  " 

"  I  really  don't  mean  that,"  said  Peter, 
genuinely  grieved. 

"  Then  I'm  afraid  you  don't  mean  anything 
at  all." 

Lady  Mary  was  clearly  amused.  Peter  miser- 
ably looked  at  her,  looked  at  his  plate,  and  then 
heard  himself  say: 

"  Why  am  I  such  a  solemn  ass?  " 

"Who  says  that?" 

"  I  say  it  myself,"  said  Peter. 

Lady  Mary  looked  swiftly  at  his  ingenuous  face, 
in  which  exaggerated  abasement  struggled  with  a 
hope  that  she  would  reassure  him.  Her  amuse- 
ment was  curiously  shot  with  affection. 

"  You  oughtn't  to  have  told  me  this  so  soon," 
she  said,  smiling  at  him  in  the  friendliest  way. 
"  You  see  I  don't  yet  know  you  well  enough  to 
contradict  you.  It  would  be  rude." 

"  Let  me  get  you  another  sausage,"  said  Peter, 
feeling  a  little  better. 

As  he  brought  her  the  food  he  saw  her  more 


196  PETER  PARAGON 

familiarly.  Last  night  in  her  amazing  dress  she 
had  seemed  fragile  and  elaborate  —  all  woman 
and  social  creature.  But  this  morning  he  saw  just 
a  friendly  girl,  plainly  suited  in  brown  tweed,  ac- 
cessible and  soothing.  Now  he  really  saw  what 
she  was  like.  He  discreetly  admired  her  hair 
and  expressive  eyes,  her  slender  features  and  deli- 
cate complexion.  She  spoke  on  a  clear  note,  level 
and  quiet,  suggesting  that  her  ideas  and  feelings 
were  regular  and  securely  in  leash.  The  music 
of  her  voice  was  vibrant  but  very  sure.  It  de- 
clared a  perfect  balance,  the  voice  of  a  woman 
who  would  not  suffer  to  appear  in  any  of  her  per- 
sonal tones  or  gestures  anything  which  could  not 
beautifully  be  expressed. 

At  this  point  Marbury  came  into  the  room. 
Peter  was  bringing  Lady  Mary  her  sausage  with 
the  grave  intentness  of  someone  specially  elected. 

"  Hullo,  Mary.  Hullo,  Peter.  You  seem  to 
be  eating  well." 

"  Yes,"  said  Lady  Mary.  "  This  is  my  third 
sausage." 

"What  does  Peter  say?" 

"  I've  at  last  met  someone  who  takes  breakfast 
seriously." 

"  I  take  everything  seriously,"  said  Peter,  re- 
turning into  gloom. 

"  You  needn't  be  so  unhappy  about  it,"  said 
Marbury.  "  One  good  thing  about  an  election  is 
that  it  makes  one  realise  the  importance  of  being 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  197 

earnest.  Even  the  local  paper  becomes  an  im- 
mensely serious  thing." 

Marbury  settled  to  his  breakfast,  shook  out  the 
Highbury  Gazette,  and  was  absorbed.  Soon  he 
was  smiling. 

;<  What  is  it,  Tony?  "  asked  Lady  Mary,  eating 
an  apple. 

"  Listen  to  this,"  said  Marbury.  "  It's  one  of 
Jordan's  speeches." 

"  Who's  Jordan?  "  Peter  interrupted. 

"  My  opponent,"  said  Marbury.  "  He  seems 
to  be  dangerous.  He  knows  how  to  appeal  to  the 
people.  He  has  just  bought  a  house  and  some 
acres  in  the  constituency,  and  he  tells  the  York- 
shiremen  that  he's  a  farmer,  with  a  stake  in  the 
county. 

"  *  Gentlemen,'  he  says,  according  to  this  report, 
*  you  may  perhaps  be  inclined  to  ask  what  this  Mr. 
Jordan,  a  town-bred  man  and  a  stranger,  knows 
about  the  land  and  the  people  on  the  land.  Well, 
gentlemen,  I'm  a  farmer  myself  —  in  a  small  way. 
(Cheers.)  I  have  a  hundred  or  so  acres  of  good 
Yorkshire  soil.  (Cheers.,)  I  have  twenty  head 
of  cattle,  some  sheep  and  poultry,  and  only  this 
morning  I  was  admiring  three  fine  stacks  of  hay 
built  by  the  honest  labour  of  your  fellow  towns- 
men. (Loud  Cheers.)  Gentlemen,  I  have  come 
to  live  among  you.  ( A  great  outburst  of  cheering, 
many  of  the  audience  rising  and  waving  their 
hats.)  '  " 


198  PETER  PARAGON 

"  Is  this  what  you  call  politics  from  within?" 
Peter  scornfully  interrupted. 

"  Now,  Peter,  don't  despise  the  amusements  of 
the  people.  They  like  to  be  governed  in  this  way. 
I  shall  have  to  see  the  bailiff." 

"  I'm  passing  the  home-farm,"  said  Lady  Mary. 
"  I'll  send  him  to  you." 

When  she  had  gone,  Marbury  looked  with 
amusement  at  Peter,  chafing  up  and  down  the 
hearth-rug. 

"  Peter,"  he  said,  "  compose  yourself.  The 
others  will  be  coming  down  to  breakfast." 

"Why  do  you  want  the  bailiff?"  Peter  curtly 
inquired. 

"  I'm  thinking  out  a  little  light  banter  for  Jor- 
dan. I  want  to  know  whether  we  can  do  better 
than  twenty  head  of  cattle  and  three  fine  stacks  of 
hay." 

"  I  suggest,"  said  Peter,  massively  sarcastic, 
"  that  you  make  out  a  list  of  your  hens  and  pigs 
and  send  it  round  the  constituency." 

Marbury  considered  this.  "  That,  Peter,  is  an 
idea.  I'll  talk  it  over  with  the  agent." 

Peter  flung  up  his  hands  in  the  gesture  Marbury 
loved  in  him  and  always  knew  how  to  provoke. 

"  It's  all  damn  nonsense,"  said  Peter  shortly. 

"  Jordan  calls  it  democracy." 

"  Politics  I  "  Peter  exclaimed,  with  his  nose  in 
the  air. 

"  I've  told  you  before,  Peter,  not  to  despise  poli- 
tics. It's  ignorant.  We'll  go  into  the  garden." 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  199 

They  walked  on  the  terrace  and  found  Haver- 
sham  in  the  portable  hut  where  he  usually  spent  the 
day.  He  had  been  ordered  by  the  doctors  to  live 
out  of  doors.  Here  he  wrote  letters,  interviewed 
his  tenants,  and  ordered  the  affairs  of  his  estate 
and  fortune.  He  was  seldom  alone,  unless  he 
wished  it,  for  his  friends  treasured  every  moment 
they  were  able  to  spend  with  him. 

Peter  and  Marbury  paused  at  the  open  side  of 
the  hut,  turned,  as  always,  towards  the  sun.  Mar- 
bury,  before  they  reached  Lord  Haversham,  had 
time  to  tell  Peter  that  his  uncle  did  not  like  his 
health  to  be  talked  about. 

"  What  is  the  programme  ?  "  Haversham  asked 
as  they  came  up. 

"  Eight  meetings  to-day,  Uncle." 

Haversham  tapped  the  paper  he  was  holding: 

"  You've  seen  Jordan's  latest?  " 

"  We  were  talking  about  it,"  said  Marbury. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  asked  Haver- 
sham. 

"  Peter  suggests  we  should  post  the  constituency 
with  a  schedule  of  your  stock  on  the  home-farm." 

Peter  glowered  at  Marbury,  but  a  moment  after 
felt  amiably  foolish  under  Haversham's  kind  in- 
spection. 

"  You  don't  expect  me  to  believe  that,  Tony," 
said  Haversham.  "  But,  seriously,  don't  let  your 
agent  do  anything  of  the  kind.  He'll  probably 
suggest  it." 

"  I  wonder." 


200  PETER  PARAGON 

"  It  wouldn't  do.  If  you  were  a  Radical  like 
Jordan  you  could  tell  them  you  owned  the  whole 
constituency.  In  a  Radical  it  would  show  good 
faith  and  a  likeliness  to  look  after  local  interests. 
But  in  a  Tory  it  is  bribery  and  coercion.  Your 
leaflet  would  be  published  in  the  London  Radical 
papers  —  Another  Instance  of  Tory  Intimida- 
tion." 

"  You  see,  Peter,"  said  Marbury,  "  we  shall 
have  to  be  tactful." 

"  Why  notice  the  speech  at  all?  "  asked  Peter. 

"  Because  we  are  electioneering,"  said  Marbury. 
"  We're  not  here  for  fun.  My  enemy  has  sent  out 
a  leaflet:  *  Vote  for  Jordan,  the  farmer,  and  the 
farmer's  friend  ' —  the  implication,  of  course,  be- 
ing that  I  am  neither  a  farmer  nor  a  farmer's 
friend.  It's  much  more  important  in  an  agricul- 
tural constituency  to  destroy  this  delicate  sugges- 
tion than  to  prove  that  there  is  an  absolute  need 
for  a  Navy  Bill  next  session  of  over  sixty  mil- 
lions." 

"  Yes,"  objected  Peter,  "  but  the  whole  thing  is 
so  ridiculous." 

Haversham  sighed :  "  That's  what  makes  pub- 
lic life  so  hard.  It  is  especially  hard  for  our  peo- 
ple. There's  nothing  we  dread  more  than  losing 
touch  with  our  sense  of  humour.  But  these  sac- 
rifices are  necessary.  These  sixty  millions  have 
to  be  raised,  and  only  Antony  will  raise  them." 

"  You  see,  Peter,"  Marbury  interposed,  "  the 
sense  of  duty  is  not  yet  extinct.  Please  look  less 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  201 

incredulous.     Then  we'll  go  and  talk  to  the  farm- 
ers." 

'  Why  do  you  take  me  ? "  Peter  grunted. 
;'  Why  not  take  someone  who  really  under- 
stands?" 

"  I  have  set  my  mind  on  taking  you,"  said  Mar- 
bury  finally.  "  But  you  must  be  less  critical.  You 
will  hear  me  say  some  obvious  things.  Please  un- 
derstand that  I  am  quite  honestly  accepting  a  pub- 
lic duty,  and  don't  look  as  if  you  were  infinitely 
wiser  and  better,  because  you  are  not." 

Peter  felt  the  sincerity  of  this  appeal.  He 
turned  impulsively  to  Haversham. 

"  Antony  " —  Peter  used  the  name  with  shy 
pleasure  — "  has  a  way  of  putting  me  in  the 
wrong." 

Haversham  smiled :  "  I'm  sure  you  are  excel- 
lent for  one  another,"  he  said.  "  It  does  Antony 
good  to  realise  that  he  is  elderly  for  his  years." 

A  servant  came  from  the  house  and  announced 
that  the  bailiff  was  waiting  for  Marbury.  Peter 
was  left  for  a  time  with  his  host,  who  drew  him  to 
talk  easily  of  the  days  at  Gamaliel  and  in  town. 
Peter  tried  to  explain  how  in  suburban  London  he 
had  failed  to  realise  his  hopes. 

"  Perhaps,"  Haversham  suggested,  "  you  put 
the  intellectual  average  too  high?  " 

"  It  wasn't  that,"  said  Peter  eagerly.  "  I  hope 
I  haven't  seemed  too  clever  or  anything  of  that 
kind.  But  somehow  I  was  never  comfortable. 
The  more  intelligence  I  found,  the  less  I  liked  it." 


202  PETER  PARAGON 

"  You  felt,  in  fact,  rather  like  a  modern  states- 
man measuring  the  results  of  popular  education. 
He  realises  that  he  has  educated  the  crowd  just 
enough  to  be  taken  in  by  a  smart  electioneer.  Hap- 
pily there  is  wisdom  still  in  Sandhaven.  Our  peo- 
ple will  vote  for  Antony  because  they  like  him. 
They  know  he  feels  rightly  about  things.  Jor- 
dan's cleverness  doesn't  appeal  to  them.  He 
doesn't  know  the  difference  between  a  swede  and  a 
turnip." 

"  Then  the  seat  is  safe?  "  concluded  Peter. 

Haversham  smiled. 

"  Not  altogether,"  he  said.  "  I  got  in  last  elec- 
tion by  five  hundred.  There  are  some  miners  in 
the  west  corner,  and  there  is  a  harbour  at  Sand- 
haven.  The  Government  Whip  has  obscurely  im- 
plied that  votes  for  Jordan  will  be  votes  for  the 
harbour.  The  harbour  badly  wants  doing  up." 

"  But  that  is  corruption." 

"  I'm  afraid  not,"  corrected  Haversham.  "  It 
is  politics." 

Marbury  joined  them  from  the  house,  telling 
Peter  to  be  ready  for  a  rush  over  the  moors.  In 
half  an  hour  they  started  alone,  provided  for  the 
day.  The  meetings  were  appointed  in  small  vil- 
lages near  Sandhaven,  where  they  would  spend 
the  night. 

The  ordered  luxury  of  Highbury  gave  to  their 
plunge  into  the  wilderness  a  keener  pleasure. 
Peter  was  free  to  enjoy  the  spacious  loveliness  of 
the  moors  —  to  enjoy  it  at  ease  in  the  best  possible 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  203 

way.  The  contours  of  the  country  here  were 
gradual  and  vast,  but  the  speed  at  which  they  ran 
defeated  monotony.  The  line  of  the  greater 
banks  shifted  perpetually  as  they  flew.  Their 
colour  came  and  went,  changing  at  every  mile  the 
palette  of  the  spread  gorse  and  heather.  Peter's 
joy  was  complete  when  from  a  high  point  of  the 
moors  he  discovered  the  sea  alive  with  the  sun. 

The  meetings  began  at  noon  with  an  informal 
handshaking  of  farmers  in  a  tiny  market-town  not 
far  from  Sandhaven.  They  continued  through  the 
day  in  schoolhouses,  lamplit  as  darkness  fell,  and 
they  ended  at  Sandhaven  in  an  orthodox  demon- 
stration, with  a  chairman  and  a  Union  Jack  and 
the  local  committee  importantly  throned  on  a  large 
platform.  Except  at  this  final  meeting  Marbury 
talked  quite  simply  to  the  electors.  Already  he 
knew  the  majority  of  them  personally.  He  was 
aware  of  their  circumstances,  family  history,  the 
troubles  of  their  farming,  their  prejudices  and 
characters.  He  knew  the  local  jokes  —  who  had 
made  rather  a  better  bargain  with  his  horse  than 
the  purchaser,  who,  under  feminine  pressure,  had 
lately  turned  from  chapel  to  church.  Peter  mar- 
velled through  the  day  at  the  prodigious  industry 
implied  in  Marbury's  knowledge,  confessed  to  be 
yet  imperfect,  of  the  estate  to  which  he  was  suc- 
ceeding. Peter  admired,  too,  the  perfection  of 
Marbury's  manner.  He  never  condescended. 
Nor  was  he  familiar  in  the  way  of  a  candidate 
seeking  to  be  popular.  He  talked  with  his  own 


204  PETER  PARAGON 

people,  in  whom  he  was  interested,  for  whom  he 
had  a  right  to  care.  Neither  in  himself  nor  in  his 
tenants  to  be  was  there  any  of  that  uneasy  pride 
of  place  which  spoils  a  community  whose  members 
are  busily  asserting  their  rank.  Marbury  be- 
haved, without  self-consciousness,  as  part  of  a  tra- 
ditional system.  He  was  met  in  the  same  way  by 
men  as  yet  untouched  with  the  snobbery  of  labour. 

Only  at  Sandhaven,  where  there  was  a  strong 
opposition,  did  Marbury  adopt  the  political  or  plat- 
form manner.  Here  he  was  called  upon  to  ex- 
plain to  his  audience  why  he  considered  that  a 
personal  landlord  was  better  for  agriculture  than 
the  local  council.  To  Peter  this  seemed  ludi- 
crously unnecessary  after  what  he  had  seen  that 
day  in  the  villages. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  meeting  in  Sandhaven, 
when  questions  were  being  asked,  Peter,  from  the 
platform,  saw  Marbury's  agent  speak  to  a  member 
of  the  audience.  Marbury  saw  it  too. 

"  He  realises  I've  shirked  Jordan,  the  farmer's 
friend,"  he  whispered  to  Peter. 

The  man  whom  the  agent  had  prompted  now 
rose  and  addressed  Marbury: 

"Will  Lord  Marbury  tell  us  what  title  Mr. 
Jordan  has  to  call  himself  the  farmer's  friend?  " 

Marbury  rose,  and  picked  a  cutting  of  Jordan's 
speech  from  the  table. 

He  read  aloud  the  passages  Peter  had  heard  at 
breakfast,  and  deftly  played  with  them.  Peter 
admired  the  ease  with  which  Mr.  Jordan's  pre- 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  205, 

tensions  as  a  farmer  were  justly  measured  without 
any  assumption  in  Marbury  of  superiority  or  rural 
snobbisme.  His  speech  was  pointed  throughout 
with  hearty  laughter  and  cheers.  It  effectually 
countered  the  speech  of  his  opponent,  but  it  gave 
no  handle  anywhere  for  a  charge  that  Marbury 
desired  to  use  his  position  as  an  argument  for  his 
return. 

"  Peter,"  said  Marbury,  as  they  were  leaving 
the  platform,  "  you  will  hear  that  speech  of  mine 
forty  times,  in  forty  moods  and  tenses,  during  the 
next  ten  days.  Please  don't  imagine  that  I  enjoy 
it.  But  you  saw  the  agent.  He  would  not  let 
me  escape,  even  for  twenty-four  hours.  He 
knows  how  important  it  is." 

Over  a  late  supper  at  the  hotel,  Peter  shared 
with  Marbury  his  impressions  of  the  day. 

"  Frankly,"  he  said,  "  I  admired  you  most  of 
the  time." 

"  Beginning  to  think  better  of  politics?  " 

"  Politics  don't  seem  to  count  much  in  this  elec- 
tion." 

"  Platform  politics  don't.  The  people  here  are 
only  just  discovering  therm  I  hear,  by  the  way, 
that  the  Government  Whips  have  arranged  a  de- 
bauch for  next  week.  They're  sending  down 
Wenderby.  My  agent,  who  despises  me,  is  fright- 
ened." 

"  Your  agent  ought  to  be  jolly  well  pleased  with 
you,"  said  Peter  indignantly. 

"  He  is  not,"  Marbury  asserted.     "  He  thinks 


206  PETER  PARAGON 

I'm  too  refined.  He  wants  me  to  tell  the  people 
I'm  going  to  inherit  seventy  thousand  acres.  He 
tells  me  not  to  cut  marble  with  a  razor.  He  wants 
it  coarse." 

They  slept  at  Sandhaven,  working  back  to 
Highbury  on  the  following  day.  It  was  compara- 
tively an  easy  journey,  and  they  were  back  at 
Highbury  in  time  for  dinner. 

Peter  drifted  shyly  towards  Lady  Mary,  and 
again  was  next  to  her. 

"  This  is  lucky,"  she  said  as  they  sat  down. 
"  You  can  tell  me  about  Antony's  meetings." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  don't  know  the  difference  between 
a  bad  meeting  and  a  good  one,"  said  Peter.  "  But 
Antony  was  pleased." 

"  Have  you  been  speaking?  "  she  asked. 

"  No." 

"Why  not?" 

"  What  could  I  say?  "  objected  Peter. 

"  Antony  tells  me  you  are  quite  an  orator." 

"  But  this  is  different,"  Peter  pleaded. 

'Why  is  it  different?" 

"  Well,  you  see,  I  can  talk  when  I  really  believe 
in  things  and  have  a  lot  to  say." 

"  Don't  you  believe  in  Antony?"  asked  Lady 
Mary.  She  was  determined  not  to  let  him  off. 

"  Yes,"  Peter  admitted. 

"  Then  why  not  talk  about  him  ?  " 

"  But  what  about  politics?  "  Peter  objected. 

"  Haven't  you  any  politics?  " 

"  They  all  seem  to  be  going,"  said  Peter  dis- 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  207 

mally.     "  Things  aren't  so  simple  as  I  thought." 

"  One  thing  is  simple  enough,"  said  Lady  Mary, 
looking  serenely  at  Peter.  "  Antony  is  a  better 
man  for  Sandhaven  than  Mr.  Jordan." 

"  I'm  sure  he  is,"  Peter  gladly  agreed. 

"  Very  well  then.  You  must  speak  for  An- 
tony." 

"  Why  do  you  insist?  "  asked  Peter,  hoping  for 
a  compliment. 

"  Because,"  said  Lady  Mary,  resolved  to  dis- 
appoint him,  "  it  will  be  good  for  Antony.  It 
doesn't  matter  what  you  say.  Our  farmers  will 
look  at  your  honest  face.  Then  they  will  measure 
your  strong  back.  Then  they  will  believe  you  are 
as  good  a  man  as  themselves,  especially  if  you 
halt  a  little  in  your  speech.  Antony  is  too  fluent, 
and  he  is  not  sufficiently  robust." 


XXVIII 

DURING  the  next  few  weeks  Peter  drifted  rapidly 
into  being  a  Tory.  He  soon  talked  himself  into 
a  conviction  that  Marbury  must  win  for  national 
as  well  as  personal  reasons.  Moreover,  in  his  en- 
counter with  the  miners  of  the  western  end  of  the 
constituency,  he  had  an  opportunity  of  measuring 
the  evil  effect  upon  clouded  minds  of  the  simple 
demogogy  practised  on  the  other  side.  Peter  pro- 
voked more  than  one  riot  by  the  contempt  with 
which  he  challenged  the  cheap  phrases  whereby 
Mr.  Jordan's  electioneers  were  campaigning 
against  squires  and  men  of  property.  Fresh  from 
a  contemplation  of  Haversham's  quiet  heroism 
and  devoted  industry,  he  was  amazed  at  the  suc- 
cess with  which  English  landlords  were  presented 
as  conspirators  against  humanity.  He  was  even 
more  amazed  at  the  impudent  assurance  with 
which  their  opponents,  relying  almost  entirely 
upon  popular  text-books,  raised  a  whirlwind  of 
prejudice  in  favour  of  replacing  men  like  Hav- 
ersham by  a  committee  of  tradesmen.  Arrived 
from  these  hot  meetings  in  the  West,  Peter  would 
stand  beside  his  window  and  look  upon  a  stream 
of  visitors  waiting  upon  Haversham.  Already 
Haversham  was  told  by  the  doctors  to  be  ready 

208 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  209 

for  the  end,  and  he  was  now  deep  in  a  last  review 
of  the  estate. 

Only  half  a  dozen  people  knew  that  this  was  a 
grand  inquest  and  farewell,  but  many  of  the  men 
with  whom  Haversham  spoke  realised  they  would 
not  see  him  again.  Their  affection  appeared  in  a 
solicitude  clumsily  expressed,  but  Haversham  en- 
couraged no  sentiment,  and  with  easy  simplicity 
checked  in  his  visitors  any  dwelling  upon  their  per- 
sonal loss. 

Peter  especially  remembered  the  last  time  he  sat 
in  the  small  hut.  Instinctively  he  avoided  the 
thing  that  filled  his  mind.  Not  a  word  was  spoken 
to  suggest  that  Haversham  was  an  invalid.  When 
Peter  came  to  recall  their  conversation,  he  realised 
that  he  had  talked  exclusively  of  himself  under 
Haversham's  quiet  prompting.  He  still  saw  the 
interested  smile,  lighting  the  face  of  his  host  — 
now  brilliant  with  fever  and  eloquent  with  the  ges- 
ture of  his  spirit.  Long  afterwards,  Peter  shame- 
fully realised  how  this  man,  already  in  the  shadow 
of  death,  had,  in  perfect  sincerity,  bent  as  from  the 
clouds  to  encourage  his  young  egoism  and  to  listen. 

A  few  days  later,  Peter  attended  a  mass  meet- 
ing of  Marbury's  opponents.  It  was  Wenderby's 
meeting,  held  in  the  western  corner  of  the  con- 
stituency, in  contempt  of  landowners.  Peter  knew 
nothing  of  Wenderby  beyond  his  public  reputation. 
He  saw  in  Wenderby  only  the  brass  and  swagger 
which,  for  political  purposes,  he  chose  to  affect. 
Peter  was  deceived.  Wenderby  was  a  politician 


210  PETER  PARAGON 

of  exquisite  finesse,  playing  the  political  bruiser 
partly  out  of  genuine  love  for  his  country,  partly 
from  a  deeply  calculated  personal  ambition.  His 
speech  in  this  by-election  well  illustrated  the  in- 
tricacy of  modern  politics  under  their  superficial 
simplicity.  Ostensibly  it  denounced  all  Tories 
and  pleaded  for  economy  in  naval  expenditure. 
Actually  it  was  Wenderby's  cover  for  a  set  cam- 
paign for  extorting  as  much  money  out  of  his  own 
party  for  the  Service  as  he  dared. 

Wenderby's  position  in  Marbury's  constituency 
was  every  way  a  snare  for  the  politically  innocent. 
He  was  a  friend  of  Haversham,  and  usually  a 
guest  at  Highbury.  But,  as  he  wrote  to  Haver- 
sham,  to  stay  at  Highbury  in  the  present  crisis 
would  perhaps  be  regarded  as  a  breach  of  politi- 
cal decency.  Peter,  seeing  in  Wenderby  the  pub- 
lic enemy  of  a  nobleman  whose  hospitality  the 
speaker  had  himself  enjoyed,  could  not  contain 
his  rage.  Wenderby's  rhetorical  periods  were 
launched  with  deadly  effect  at  a  simmering  audi- 
ence. 

At  the  close  of  the  meeting,  Peter,  red  with 
anger,  rose  to  ask  whether  certain  remarks  con- 
cerning the  landlords  of  England  were  intended 
to  have  a  personal  and  local  application.  Wen- 
derby, seeing  he  had  only  to  do  with  a  youngster 
who  had  lost  his  temper,  smoothly  evaded  him. 
Peter  sprang  to  his  feet: 

"Sir— "he  began. 

Immediately  there  were  shouts  of  "Order!" 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  211 

and  "Turn  him  out!  "     Peter  obstinately  stood. 

"  I  insist,"  he  shouted,  "  that  my  question  be 
answered.  An  infamous  insinuation " 

At  this  point  Peter  was  choked  by  half  a  dozen 
dirty  hands  grabbing  from  all  quarters  at  his  neck. 
He  was  thrust  gasping  and  struggling  from  the 
hall  —  his  coat  in  ribbons.  His  battered  hat  and 
collar  were  derisively  thrown  after  him,  as  he  bit- 
terly explained  to  the  police  that  he  was  not  drunk 
and  disorderly. 

Peter  showed  himself  that  night  to  Marbury 
and  stormily  told  his  tale.  Marbury,  to  his  morti- 
fication, only  laughed. 

"What  is  amusing  you?"  asked  Peter,  very 
short  and  stony. 

"  Everything." 

"  For  example?  " 

"  I  don't  know  where  to  begin.  First,  you  were 
shouting  at  the  wrong  man.  Wenderby  is  the 
favourite  godson  of  Uncle  Eustace.  He's  the 
only  man  we  can  trust." 

"  But  he's  on  the  other  side." 

"  In  a  way  he  is." 

"  He  will  lose  you  the  seat." 

"  Perhaps.  This  by-election  is  only  an  inci- 
dent. Wenderby's  speech  to-night  was  one  of  a 
series.  Unfortunately  it  happens  to  lie  in  our 
constituency.  Wenderby  has  to  manage  his  own 
people." 

Peter  flung  up  his  hands.  "  I  don't  understand 
these  politics." 


212  PETER  PARAGON 

Marbury  looked  affectionately  at  Peter.  Peter 
had  met  Marbury  going  to  his  room.  He  was 
without  a  collar,  and  he  looked  forlorn.  Mar- 
bury  put  a  hand  on  his  arm : 

"  Wenderby  shall  apologise,"  he  said  gravely. 
"  He's  a  charming  fellow,  and  he  is  very  fond  of 
young  people." 

Lady  Mary,  fresh  from  canvassing,  shared  a 
late  supper  with  Marbury  and  Peter.  She  joined 
with  her  brother  to  wring  from  Peter  a  full  ac- 
count of  his  adventure.  Peter  began  sorely,  but 
at  last  detected  in  Lady  Mary  an  unconfessed  ap- 
proval. Clearly  she  liked  him  for  his  protest. 
He  even  dared  to  think  that  she  admired.  Peter 
was  gradually  more  happy,  and  soon  was  enjoying 
his  escapade.  He  even  displayed,  in  mock  hero- 
ism, the  large  blue  marks  upon  his  neck. 

Later,  in  his  room,  Peter  found  in  the  events  of 
the  day  a  consecration  of  his  devotion  to  Eustace 
Haversham.  Unessential  incidents  fell  away,  and 
he  was  glad  of  his  protest  —  mistaken  though  it 
seemed,  and  ridiculous. 

Next  day  was  Sunday,  and  meetings  were  sus- 
pended. The  house  was  very  quiet,  and  Haver- 
sham  was  not  in  his  usual  place.  Marbury  told 
Peter  he  might  not  again  come  down. 

After  dinner,  Peter  slipped  on  to  the  terrace 
and  faced  the  shadowy  moor,  lifting  his  head  to 
a  faint  breeze  from  the  sea.  He  stood  beside  the 
bronze  figure  he  had  so  often  admired.  Before 
him  was  the  wilderness,  but  civilisation  was  behind 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  213 

in  the  murmured  voices  from  the  drawing-room 
and  those  harsher  cries  Peter  had  lately  heard 
from  men  made  selfish  and  bitter. 

Surely  it  was  well  that  this  triumphant  figure 
should  brave  the  desert,  and  that  in  its  shadow  a 
beautiful  life  should  be  passing.  It  flung  out  the 
challenge  of  art  and  wisdom.  It  was  a  consum- 
mation for  which  millions  worked,  and  now  it  con- 
fidently stood,  as  though  aware  of  what  it  had 
cost,  resolved  that  it  was  well  worth  the  price. 
Peter  wondered  whether  it  were  justified. 

His  dreaming  was  broken.  Lady  Mary  rustled 
beside  him. 

"  You  have  found  this  place?  "  she  said  after  a 
silence.  They  watched  the  superb  silhouette  of 
the  statue  fading  as  the  light  emptied  rapidly  from 
the  sky. 

"  I  am  wondering  whether  he  is  worth  while?  " 
said  Peter,  waving  his  hand  at  the  figure  between 
them. 

"What  is  your  riddle?" 

"  He  has  cost  a  thousand  lives." 

"  You  are  talking  like  a  Socialist,"  said  Lady 
Mary  curtly. 

Peter  felt  in  her  a  coldness  that  passed.  She 
was  looking  over  the  moors  as  though  she  followed 
the  blind  eyes  of  the  naked  boy.  Her  attitude 
suggested  that  she,  too,  was  part  of  this  challenge. 
Her  dress,  conveying  to  Peter  an  impression  of 
complicated  and  finished  art,  fell  away  from  her 
shoulders  as,  with  head  flung  back,  she  filled  her 


214  PETER  PARAGON 

eyes  with  the  beauty  of  earth  and  sky.  She  in- 
terpreted in  radiant  life  the  cold  metal  of  the 
statue.  Civilisation  was  justified  in  her,  or  it 
could  not  be  justified. 

"  Have  you  never  any  doubt?  "  said  Peter,  wist- 
fully impulsive. 

Lady  Mary  turned  slowly  from  the  moor.  Her 
calm  eyes  swept  over  him. 

"Doubt?"  she  echoed. 

"  Do  you  never  wonder  whether  all  this  " — 
Peter  made  one  of  the  large  gestures  of  his  mother 
— "is  worth  the  noise  and  the  dirt  over  there? 
Have  you  no  doubt  at  all?  " 

"  How  is  it  possible  to  doubt?  "  she  calmly  re- 
sponded. She  stood  proudly  facing  him.  But 
she  read  perplexity  in  his  face  and,  as  it  seemed  to 
Peter,  she  stooped  to  him. 

"  Don't  you  see,"  she  almost  pleaded,  "  that 
either  we  must  believe  in  ourselves  or  make  way; 
and  we  do  believe.  I  believe  in  all  this  " —  she 
faintly  parodied  Peter's  large  gesture  — "  and  I 
believe  in  myself." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  it  was  Lady  Mary  who 
spoke  again.  Almost  it  seemed  that  she  wanted 
to  make  her  point. 

"  You,  at  any  rate,"  she  urged  him,  "  have 
learned  to  believe  a  little."  She  looked  towards 
the  hut  on  the  terrace,  and  Peter  followed  her 
thoughts. 

The  trees  stirred  a  moment,  and  laughter  came 
from  the  open  room.  But  these  two  heard  only 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  215 

the  voice  of  Eustace  Haversham,  and  saw  his 
lighted  features  vivid  in  memory.  The  last  colour 
of  the  sunset  was  full  upon  her  as  she  faced  her 
uncle's  empty  place.  Its  emptiness  to-night  was 
an  omen  of  the  eternal  emptiness  to  come.  Her 
mouth  quivered,  and  tears  shone  suddenly  under 
her  lids  as  she  turned  again  to  Peter. 

"  I  believe  he  is  worth  the  whole  world,"  she 
said,  and  her  voice  broke. 

Her  tears  seemed  to  remove  every  barrier. 
Peter  saw  in  her  eyes  an  appeal  for  an  equal  faith. 
She  felt  the  drops  on  her  cheek,  and  turned  away 
into  the  shadow. 

"  I,  too,  believe,"  Peter  deeply  whispered. 

Then  he  noticed  how  her  hand  lay  unprotected 
upon  the  pedestal  of  the  statue,  vaguely  delicate 
upon  the  hard  metal. 

He  impulsively  bent  and  touched  it  with  his 
lips.  She  did  not  start  or  cry  out,  but  turned 
again  slowly  towards  him.  She  read  in  his  eyes 
faith  merely  and  dedication. 

"  I  am  glad  you  did  that,"  she  said  in  a  level 
voice. 

Then  they  went,  as  by  consent,  towards  the 
lighted  windows  of  the  drawing-room. 

Next  morning,  ten  days  before  polling  day  at 
Sandhaven,  Peter  was  summoned  away  by  tele- 
gram to  Hamingburgh.  His  uncle  had  suddenly 
been  stricken  seriously  ill.  Peter  bade  his  friends 
a  quick  farewell  and  caught  the  first  train  from 
York. 


XXIX 

WHEN  Peter  found  his  uncle  stretched  helplessly 
in  bed  with  all  the  ceremony  about  him  of  an  ur- 
gent case,  he  reproached  himself  for  having 
thought  of  him  so  little  during  his  years  of  health. 
He  had  taken  his  uncle  for  granted  as  the  sanguine 
and  gracious  benefactor.  It  had  not  occurred  to 
him  to  probe  the  motives  of  his  uncle's  affection, 
or  to  ask  whether  he  was  making  him  an  adequate 
return. 

Now  it  was  too  late.  When  Peter  arrived  in 
Hamingburgh  his  uncle  was  already  unconscious, 
and  he  did  not  recover  sufficiently  to  recognise 
his  nephew.  A  sudden,  seizure  ended  with  a  rush 
of  blood  to  the  brain;  and  Peter  was  left  heir  to 
a  personal  estate  of  over  £90,000.  Peter  had  to 
be  content  with  his  mother's  assurance  that  his 
uncle  died  with  entire  faith  in  his  nephew's  ability 
to  spend  a  fortune. 

The  next  weeks  passed  in  ending  all  connection 
with  Hamingburgh,  which  Peter  now  found  intol- 
erable, and  in  preparing  for  life  in  London  com- 
mensurate with  his  new  ideas.  He  took  rooms  for 
himself  and  his  mother  in  Curzon  Street,  to  be 
made  ready  for  the  autumn  season. 

"  We  will  have  everything  very  beautiful,  and 
we  will  have  only  what  is  necessary,"  he  told  his 

216 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  217 

mother  as  they  talked  things  over  in  their  flat  at 
Golder's  Green.  "  Of  course  we  must  sell  all  this 
stuff." 

He  waved  his  hands  in  an  inclusive  gesture  to- 
ward the  chairs  and  tables.  Mrs.  Paragon  mildly 
looked  about  her. 

"  But,  Peter,  I  thought  you  liked  all  this  pretty 
furniture." 

"  It's  modern,"  said  Peter  briefly.  "  There  is 
no  such  thing  as  modern  furniture.  Ask  Mar- 
bury." 

He  came  and  sat  on  the  arm  of  his  mother's 
chair. 

"  I  must  get  Marbury  to  help.  I  want  to  see 
you  talking  to  Lady  Mary  over  a  tea-table  by  the 
Brother's  Adam." 

"  Peter,  this  is  the  third  time  to-day  you  have 
mentioned  Lord  Marbury's  sister." 

"  Naturally,  mother.  This  is  polling  day  at 
Highbury.  I've  been  wondering  how  things  are 
going." 

A  few  days  later  Marbury  came  to  town  and 
took  his  seat  as  member  for  Sandhaven.  Peter 
secured  him  for  the  following  evening,  and  they 
all  three  dined  together  at  the  flat  in  Golder's 
Green.  Marbury  was  called  upon  for  advice  as 
to  Curzon  Street. 

"  Peter,"  he  said,  "  this  is  a  new  phase.  Don't 
encourage  him,  Mrs.  Paragon.  He  wasn't  in- 
tended for  an  exquisite.  He's  too  robust." 

"  He  does  not  need  encouraging,"  said  Mrs. 


2i*  PETER  PARAGON 

Paragon.  She  had  calmly  accepted  Peter's  new 
enthusiasm,  and  now  only  wondered  how  long  it 
would  endure. 

"  Peter  has  already  sold  all  our  furniture,"  she 
added  by  way  of  information.  "  It  will  disappear 
at  the  end  of  the  week." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  in  the  meantime?  " 
asked  Marbury,  exchanging  an  intelligible  smile 
with  Mrs.  Paragon. 

Mrs.  Paragon  quietly  answered  him,  unaware 
of  the  irony  which  lurked  in  her  undisturbed  ac- 
ceptance of  the  inevitable. 

"  Peter  says  that  no  one  stays  in  London  during 
these  next  months.  He  says  we  must  go  to  the 
North  of  Scotland." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  there?"  asked 
Marbury. 

"  Peter  is  going  to  fish,"  said  Mrs.  Paragon. 

When  the  time  came  Mrs.  Paragon  discovered 
that  her  part  in  the  holiday  in  North  Britain  was 
to  attend  Peter  during  long  happy  days  in  lonely 
places  where  Peter  mysteriously  dangled  in  lakes 
and  rivers.  She  dreamed  away  the  time  beside 
the  basket  of  food  and  shared  with  Peter  pleasant 
meals  under  the  sky,  quickened  with  his  lively  ac- 
count of  the  morning's  work. 

News  came  once  into  their  wilderness  when 
Eustace  Haversham  died.  In  the  letters  Peter 
exchanged  with  Marbury  and  his  sister  he  learned 
that  the  end  had  come  at  the  close  of  a  happy  day 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  219 

in  the  sun,  with  people  arriving  and  departing 
upon  the  terrace  at  Highbury.  Haversham  had 
smilingly  received  the  congratulations  of  his 
friends  upon  his  better  health;  then,  with  a  look 
in  his  eyes  showing  that  he  at  any  rate  knew  bet- 
ter, he  had  died  as  the  light  fell  from  the  bronze 
figure  fronting  the  moor. 

In  long  hours  upon  loch  and  river  Peter  some- 
times thought  of  Lady  Mary  and  their  last  meet- 
ing. He  thought  of  her  less  as  a  woman  than 
a  lovely  symbol  of  the  life  he  was  now  called  to 
lead.  She  stood  in  his  eye,  radiant  and  proud, 
thrown  into  relief  by  a  mutter  of  poverty  and  ill- 
will.  She  was  for  Peter  the  supreme  achieve- 
ment of  the  time.  The  cool  touch  of  her  hand 
on  his  lips  raised  in  him  no  remembered  rapture. 
It  had  been  not  a  personal  caress  but  an  act  of 
worship,  for  which  he  could  imagine  no  other  pos- 
sible expression.  She  charmed  him,  and  made 
him  afraid.  The  delicate  play  of  her  mind  was 
intimately  enjoyed  by  Peter  in  retrospect  when  he 
was  able  to  realise  the  indulgence  with  which  she 
had  met  his  blundering. 

Peter  remembered  his  father  and  his  years  of 
revolt  without  misgiving  for  the  way  he  now 
seemed  to  be  taking.  These  memories  enforced 
him  towards  all  for  which  Lady  Mary  now  stood. 
He  so  clearly  had  been  wrong. 

Early  in  September  Peter  and  his  mother  re- 
turned to  London.  Peter,  fearing  to  be  bantered, 


220  PETER  PARAGON 

furnished  the  rooms  in  Curzon  Street  without  ad- 
vice. The  season  was  just  beginning  when  they 
took  possession. 

Peter  soon  read  in  the  fashionable  intelligence 
that  L0rd  Haversham  —  Marbury  had  shed  the 
younger  title  —  had  come  to  town  for  the  autumn 
session.  He  also  saw  that  Wenderby  had  been 
staying  at  Highbury  as  the  guest  of  Lady  Mary 
and  her  brother.  This  displeased  Peter.  He 
would  not  surrender  his  animosity  against  Wen- 
derby, or  admit  that  he  was  mistaken.  He  owed 
this  to  himself  in  justification  of  his  outbreak  dur- 
ing the  election.  Now  that  he  read  Wenderby's 
name  beside  the  name  of  Lady  Mary,  Peter  was 
surprised  to  find  how  much  he  distrusted  the  man. 
He  threw  down  the  paper  in  a  small  passion. 

"  Why,  Peter,"  said  Mrs.  Paragon,  "  what's  the 
matter?" 

"  Nothing,  mother." 

Mrs.  Paragon  tried  another  way  of  approach. 

"What's  the  news  this  morning?"  she  lightly 
inquired. 

"  Lord  Haversham  has  come  to  town." 

"With  Lady  Mary?"  Mrs.  Paragon  quickly 


"  Yes,"  said  Peter.  "  Also  with  Lord  Wen- 
derby." He  kicked  the  newspaper  and  went  to 
the  window. 

"  I  see,"  said  Peter's  mother. 

Perhaps  Mrs.  Paragon  was  right,  and  Peter  was 
really  jealous.  Wenderby  clearly  belonged  to  the 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  221 

party  which  had  arrived  in  town.  He  knew  the 
language.  He  did  not  make  heroically  foolish 
scenes  at  a  public  meeting.  Probably  he  had 
never  incurred  the  laughter  of  Lady  Mary.  She 
did  not  make  allowances  for  him,  or  look  at  him 
with  protection  in  her  eyes,  or  take  an  interest  in 
him  as  someone  from  a  strange  world.  Wen- 
derby  knew  all  that  Peter  had  yet  to  learn. 

Peter  himself  was  worried  to  account  for  his  ill 
humour,  and  even  came  to  the  point  of  asking 
himself  the  question  which  his  mother  had  already 
answered.  He  decided  that  he  was  not  person- 
ally jealous.  Rather  he  was  jealous  of  the  privi- 
lege and  experience  which  made  Wenderby  at 
home  and  at  ease  in  the  world  which  Peter  desired 
to  enjoy.  Haversham  had  told  him  that  Wen- 
derby was  a  charming  fellow.  Peter  wondered 
whether  he  would  ever  be  a  charming  fellow;  and, 
in  a  fit  of  misgiving,  began  to  exhaust  the  possibili- 
ties of  self-contempt.  He  had  had  a  glimpse  of 
the  beautiful  life;  but  suppose  he  were  not  worthy 
to  enter.  Suppose  Haversham  could  not  be  the 
friend  of  a  young  colt  who  had  nothing  in  the 
world  to  fit  him  for  an  agreeable  part  in  the  social 
comedy.  Suppose  he  would  never  again  come 
into  touch  with  exquisite  creatures  like  Lady 
Mary.  Suppose  he  were  doomed  to  follow  the 
witty  pageant  of  London  life  (which  now  was  a 
Paradise  in  Peter's  fancy)  only  through  the  col- 
umns of  the  fashionable  intelligence.  Suppose 
it  were  his  destiny  henceforth  to  hear  of  Lady 


222  PETER  PARAGON 

Mary  only  when  she  happened  to  be  entertaining 
Wenderby. 

Peter  was  chewing  this  bitter  cud  at  his  mother's 
tea-table  in  Curzon  Street  when  his  man-servant 
(Peter,  to  his  mother's  dismay,  had  insisted  on  a 
man-servant)  announced  the  figures  of  his  medita- 
tion by  name.  Peter  rose  in  a  whirl,  and  before 
he  had  possession  of  his  mind  Haversham  and 
Wenderby  were  taking  tea  with  Mrs.  Paragon. 
Mrs.  Paragon  received  her  guests  with  monumen- 
tal calm,  answered  their  inquiries  after  her  holiday 
in  Scotland  with  a  quiet  precision  which  suggested 
an  irony  of  which  really  she  was  quite  incapable, 
and  wondered  meanwhile  why  Peter  was  less  talk- 
ative than  a  meeting  with  his  best  friend  seemed 
to  require. 

"  Peter,"  said  Haversham  at  last,  "  you  seem 
depressed." 

"  Not  at  all."  Peter  was  the  more  laconic  be- 
cause he  was  suffering  a  quiet,  persistent  scrutiny 
from  Wenderby. 

"  This,"  said  Wenderby,  "  is  surely  not  the  san- 
guine young  man  who  brought  me  to  judgment." 

"  You  remember  that?  "  asked  Peter  briefly. 

"  I  have  come  to  apologise,"  Wenderby  ex- 
plained. 

"  I  told  you  he  should  apologise,"  said  Haver- 
sham. 

"  Isn't  that  for  me  to  do?  "  asked  Peter. 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  Wenderby  smiled.  "  You 
lost  your  collar  and  were  nearly  strangled." 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  223 

"  I  would  do  it  again,"  said  Peter  cheerfully. 

"  I  admit  the  provocation,"  agreed  Wenderby. 
He  was  quite  unruffled  by  the  vibrant  conviction  of 
Peter's  voice. 

"  You  must  make  allowances,  Peter,"  put  in 
Haversham.  "  It  was  a  misfortune  for  all  of  us. 
That  speech  might  have  lost  me  the  seat.  Wen- 
derby always  puts  public  interest  before  personal 
feeling." 

"  The  speech  was  a  great  success,"  said  Wen- 
derby. "  It  did  not  lose  the  seat,  but  it  won  the 
Cabinet.  I  have  wrung  out  fifty-seven  millions. 
The  Tories  could  hardly  have  done  better." 

"  No  politics,"  protested  Haversham.  "  Peter 
doesn't  understand." 

"  How  is  Lady  Mary?  "  asked  Peter  suddenly. 

Haversham's  phrase  about  "  personal  feeling  " 
had  stuck  in  his  mind. 

Wenderby  glanced  keenly  at  Peter,  so  keenly 
that  Peter  at  once  felt  his  question  had  touched  a 
nerve. 

"  You  must  come  and  see  for  yourself,"  said 
Haversham.  "  We're  moving  into  Arlington 
Street  and  Mary  is  beinjg  worried  with  decorators. 
She  has  even  interviewed  a  plumber.  I  suggest 
that  you  look  in  at  the  Ballet  to-night  and  encour- 
age her." 

"  How  shall  I  encourage  her?  "  Peter  gloomily 
asked. 

'  You  are  young,   Peter,  and  youth  is  infec- 
tious." 


224  PETER  PARAGON 

"  I  wish  I  could  catch  it,"  said  Wenderby;  and 
Peter  detected  envy. 

Shortly  after  they  had  left  Peter  made  ready 
for  Covent  Garden.  His  master-thought  was  to 
get  into  touch  with  the  life  which  at  Highbury  had 
so  urgently  attracted  him.  An  encounter  with 
Lady  Mary  would  be  the  touchstone  of  his  claim 
to  be  socially  accepted.  Also  Peter  knew  that 
Wenderby  would  be  there.  He  had  seen  in  Wen- 
derby the  faintest  gesture  of  annoyance  when 
Haversham  had  mentioned  the  Ballet.  Peter  was 
sensitive  to  the  least  indication  in  Wenderby  of  a 
special  interest  in  Lady  Mary.  Already  there  was 
a  mutual  faint  dislike.  Peter  resented  the  keen 
appraisement  of  Wenderby's  searching  eyes.  He 
felt  the  rapid  working  of  a  trained  and  subtle  mind 
busily  estimating  his  value.  Wenderby,  for  his 
part,  detected  in  Peter  a  wilful  energy  which,  as  a 
politician,  he  abhorred. 

Mrs.  Paragon  preferred  not  to  accompany 
Peter.  He  dined  alone  with  her,  and  she  found 
him  clouded  and  cold.  Afterwards  he  picked  his 
way  by  cab  to  the  Opera  House,  sitting  bolt  up- 
right with  a  vague  presage  of  complications  to 
ensue.  He  joined  the  happy  few  carried  to  pleas- 
ure through  the  shining  streets.  Summer  lingered 
wherever  a  foothold  was  offered  to  the  green. 
It  was  warm,  with  cool  air  soft  as  the  hum  of  the 
London  traffic.  But  Peter's  senses  were  shut  to 
his  position  of  ease.  He  was  restive  still  under 
the  penetrating  eyes  of  Wenderby.  He  felt  as  if 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  225 

he  were  going  into  an  arena.  More  than  one 
woman  turned  in  the  crush  of  cars  at  Covent  Gar- 
den to  look  at  Peter's  vivid,  ingenuous  face  as  he 
sat  erect,  frowning  a  little,  staring  blindly  ahead. 
He  was  not  actually  thinking.  Curious  faint  emo- 
tions came  and  went.  His  consciousness  was 
ruled  by  a  shimmering  figure,  infinite  in  grace  and 
promise ;  but  it  rested  under  the  threat  of  a  cloud, 
which  now  was  seen  to  grow  dark  and  then  to  van- 
ish. 

A  little  later  Peter  found  Lady  Mary  with  his 
glasses;  Wenderby  stood  beside  her  in  the  box. 
She  saw  Peter  almost  as  his  glasses  were  levelled, 
and  leaned  eagerly  forward  to  greet  him.  Wen- 
derby looked  like  one  interrupted,  and  Peter  could 
see  how  thoughtful  he  suddenly  became.  Then 
the  lights  were  lowered. 


XXX 

WHEN  Peter,  in  the  interval  between  the  first  and 
second  ballet,  entered  the  box  of  Lady  Mary  he 
formally  embarked  upon  his  career  as  a  social  fig- 
ure. 

Wenderby  was  Lady  Mary's  companion  of  the 
evening,  for  he  sat  securely  beside  her  as  Peter 
came.  But  she  was  radiantly  pleased  to  welcome 
Peter,  and  even  seemed  anxious  to  exaggerate  her 
pleasure. 

The  two  men  were  vividly  contrasted.  Peter 
stood  for  youth  —  resilient,  athletic,  and  eager. 
Wenderby  as  perfectly  expressed  the  wisdom,  tol- 
erance, and  disillusion  of  one  who  already  had 
lived.  He  had  just  successfully  finished  a  hard 
campaign  in  the  country,  and  he  was  tired.  The 
lines  of  his  forehead  were  deeper  to-night  than  he 
knew. 

Lady  Mary's  cordial  reception  scattered  Peter's 
vague  misgiving.  It  restored  to  him  the  woman 
who,  on  the  terrace  at  Highbury,  had  accepted  his 
worship,  thanked  him,  and  understood. 

"Your  mother  isn't  here?"  she  said,  as  Peter 
found  a  chair. 

"  I  could  not  persuade  her." 

"  I  must  know  her  at  once.  Antony  is  quite 
positive  about  it." 

226 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  227 

"  Antony  is  right,"  said  Peter.  "  She  is  won- 
derful." 

"  Lord  Wenderby  is  more  fortunate  than  I  am. 
He  has  seen  her  already." 

"  I'm  afraid  of  her,"  said  Wenderby.  "  She 
has  that  sort  of  silence  which  spoils  my  best  con- 
versation." 

"  You  mustn't  allow  Lord  Wenderby  to  frighten 
you."  Peter  paused,  and  added  quite  simply: 
"  You  will  love  my  mother." 

"  I  must  meet  her  at  once;  but  I  cannot  go  out 
to-morrow.  Will  you  bring  her  to  me  at  Arling- 
ton Street?" 

Peter  at  this  was  entirely  happy.  How  could 
he  have  doubted  that  his  precious  intimacy  with 
Lady  Mary  would  be  broken.  Talking  thus  of 
his  mother,  she  invited  him  to  come  closer  yet. 
Peter  wondered  if  Wenderby  had  ever  seen  her 
tears.  She  passed  through  her  hands  a  string  of 
pearls  that  hung  about  her  neck,  and  Peter  saw 
in  them  the  frozen  symbol  of  drops  more  precious. 
His  eyes,  as  this  conceit  came  into  his  mind,  rested 
upon  the  stones  as  they  fell  through  her  fingers. 
He  did  not  know  he  was  looking  at  the  hand  he 
had  kissed.  Lady  Mary  drew  it  behind  her  fan. 

"  You  like  my  pearls?  "  she  said  abruptly. 

Peter  started  a  little. 

"  They  are  very  beautiful,  but  you  do  not  need 
them,"  he  said  bluntly. 

The  crudity  of  his  compliment  was  more  effec- 
tive than  the  most  artful  flattery.  Wenderby 


228  PETER  PARAGON 

looked  wistfully  at  the  two  young  faces,  conscious 
that  between  them  youth  was  singing.  Peter's 
adoration  was  plainly  written,  and  Lady  Mary 
received  it  with  a  delicate  flush  of  colour  and  a 
perceptible  nervousness.  Wenderby  had  never 
before  seen  her  in  the  least  perturbed. 

He  hastily  turned  the  conversation,  commenting 
on  the  ballet  they  had  just  seen  —  a  ballet  of  lust 
and  blood.  It  had  stepped  from  the  pages  of  Sir 
Richard  Burton,  barbaric  in  colour  and  music  — 
frankly  sadistic. 

"  This,"  he  said,  indicating  the  rows  of  brilliant 
and  respectable  people  who  had  watched  it,  "  is  a 
feast  indeed  for  the  cynical.  How  many  of  these 
people  realise  what  they  have  seen?  How  horri- 
fied they  would  be  if  you  told  them  in  plain  Eng- 
lish what  they  have  just  heard  in  plain  music!  " 

"  You  are  a  musician?  "  Peter  asked  politely. 

"  Enough  of  a  musician  to  know  that  even  Sir 
Richard  Burton  never  spoke  plainer  than  this  Rus- 
sian fellow.  It  seems  to  me  quite  extraordinary 
that  civilised  people  are  able  to  sit  serenely  beside 
one  another  in  a  public  place  and  hear  things  which 
they  would  blush  to  read  in  a  private  room." 

It  was  strange  that  this  ballet  should  recall  a 
chapter  almost  forgotten.  Peter,  looking  at  Lady 
Mary,  saw  again  a  cherry-coloured  ribbon  folded 
between  the  leaves  of  her  brother's  book.  Peter 
knew  she  had  not  touched  that  old  fever.  He 
could  not  think  of  her  as  kindling  him  in  that  sav- 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  229 

age  way.     He  saw  himself  forever  humbly  re- 
peating the  caress  of  adoration. 

Peter  left  at  the  end  of  the  interval,  fearing  too 
eagerly  to  force  himself.  It  was  enough  that  he 
was  to  see  Lady  Mary  again  on  the  following 
day. 


XXXI 

PETER'S  appearance  at  Covent  Garden  precipi- 
tated in  Wenderby  an  action  upon  whose  brink  he 
had  stood  for  several  weeks.  He  called  upon 
Lady  Mary  in  the  morning  and  asked  for  her. 
She  came  into  the  room  bravely  affecting  surprise. 
But  too  well  she  knew  what  was  coming. 

"  Lord  Wenderby,"  she  began,  "  this  is  wonder- 
ful." 

"  That  I  should  come  to  see  you?  " 

"  I  read  in  the  Times  that  a  Cabinet  was  called 
for  this  morning.  Surely  you  should  be  there." 

Wenderby  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  The  Cabinet,"  he  said,  "  will  be  happier  as 
they  are." 

"  You  say  that  bitterly." 

"  It's  bitter  truth,"  he  answered.  "  I'm  in  the 
wrong  set." 

There  was  a  short  silence,  and  Lady  Mary 
found  it  intolerable. 

"  Have  you  come  just  to  grumble  and  go  ?  "  she 
inquired  at  last. 

Wenderby  paused  a  moment,  as  if  looking  for  a 
way  to  open  his  mind ;  then  he  said  abruptly : 

"  I'm  going  to  rat." 

"  To  leave  the  Cabinet? "  Lady  Mary  ex- 
claimed. She  was  now  sincerely  astonished. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Wenderby,  looking  at  her  in- 
230 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  231 

tently.  "  It's  in  my  mind.  Politics  are  going  to 
be  very  violent  during  these  next  years.  All  my 
friends  are  with  the  Opposition.  My  position  will 
be  dreary  and  difficult." 

Lady  Mary  began  to  see  his  drift,  and  was  dis- 
mayed at  the  sudden  sinking  of  her  spirit. 
'  Why  do  ypu  tell  me  this?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  want  you  to  help  me,"  said  Wenderby,  and 
again  he  looked  at  her. 

"How  can  that  be?"  she  protested,  avoiding 
his  eyes. 

"  I'm  not  yet  sure  what  I  ought  to  do.  I  shall 
be  giving  up  a  great  deal  in  leaving  the  Cabinet. 
I'm  the  youngest  minister  with  a  platform  follow- 
ing. In  a  few  years  I  should  be  leading  the 
Party." 

"What  would  become  of  your  principles?" 
Lady  Mary  objected. 

"  They  would  suffer,"  he  curtly  replied.  "  But 
I  should  do  my  best  for  them.  At  any  rate,  I 
should  do  less  harm  than  any  other  conceivable 
head  of  a  Liberal  Cabinet." 

'  You  would  be  a  fraud,"  she  flashed. 

"  Not  without  justification,"  he  coolly  answered. 

"Sophistry."   ' 

"  Not  at  all.  Making  the  best  of  a  bad  busi- 
ness." 

Again  there  was  silence.  Wenderby  found  it 
difficult  to  come  to  the  point.  It  was  again  Lady 
Mary  who  spoke. 

"  Have  you  come  to  me  for  advice?  "  she  asked. 


232  PETER  PARAGON 

"  Partly  that." 

'  Then  I  advise  you  to  follow  your  conscience," 
she  said  decisively. 

"  That  is  just  the  difficulty,"  he  pleaded.  "  My 
conscience  is  vague." 

"  It  tells  you  to  come  over." 

Wenderby  smiled.  "  Naturally  you  say  that. 
My  desertion  now  would  shake  the  Government. 
Perhaps  we  might  even  pull  them  down.  There's 
a  chance." 

'  Your  duty  is  clear,"  she  insisted. 

"  I  do  not  think  so,"  he  objected.  "  The  Gov- 
ernment may  stand  in  spite  of  me.  Then  my 
moderating  influence  is  destroyed.  Is  it  my  duty 
to  put  this  uncertain  thing  to  the  proof?  " 

There  was  a  short  silence.  Lady  Mary  saw 
Wenderby's  logical  trap  closing  about  her.  He 
bent  eagerly  towards  her,  and  a  pleading  note 
came  into  his  voice.  Lady  Mary  could  not  deny 
that  it  pleasurably  moved  her  to  detect  under  the 
steel  of  his  manner  the  suspense  of  entire  sincerity. 
He  utterly  depended  upon  her  answer. 

"  My  conscience,"  he  said,  "  does  not  help  me. 
I  cannot  balance  the  right  and  wrong  of  this 
business.  I  want  a  better  reason.  I  want  the 
best  reason  in  the  world.  I  want  you  to  be  my 
wife." 

Lady  Mary  did  not  move.  Wenderby's  sin- 
cerity saved  him  from  the  protest  with  which  she 
had  thought  to  meet  it.  Nearly  a  minute  passed. 

"  You  understand?  "  said  Wenderby  at  last. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  233 

"  I  think  I  understand,"  she  slowly  answered, 
"  that  this  is  not  exactly  what  it  seems." 

"Does  it  seem  so  terrible?"  he  pleaded. 
"  Consider  it  from  my  point  of  view." 

"  You  say  that,  if  I  marry  you,  you  will  leave 
the  Cabinet.  That  is  my  price." 

"  Obviously,  if  you  consented  to  marry  me,  it 
would  be  my  crowning  motive  for  coming  to  your 
people.  It  is  a  natural  consequence." 

"  It  is  my  price,"  she  insisted. 

"  You  are  brutal,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

Lady  Mary  flushed  a  little.  "  You  do  not  like 
my  word.  Shall  we  say  inducement?  You  tell 
me  you  will  leave  the  Cabinet,  but  you  do  not 
trouble  to  ask  me  whether  I  care  for  you." 

"Is  that  necessary?"  said  Wenderby,  quite 
simply.  "  I  know  you  too  well.  You  like  me  and 
trust  me.  I  think  you  admire  me  a  little.  I  am 
forty-seven.  I  do  not  urge  you  to  passion.  I 
have  appealed  to  you  as  a  woman  who  can  weigh 
the  things  of  youth  against  other  things,  more 
important  perhaps,  certainly  more  enduring.  I 
have  been  candid  with  you." 

Lady  Mary  sighed. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  said,  "  how  many  English  girls 
have  been  talked  to  in  this  way?  " 

"  You  are  not  just  an  English  girl.  You  are 
Lord  Haversham's  sister." 

"  You  mean,"  said  Lady  Mary  sadly,  "  that  I 
have  no  right  to  be  loved  in  the  common  way?  " 

Again  there  was  a  short  silence.     Wenderby 


234  PETER  PARAGON 

then  rose,  and  put  his  hand  upon  Lady  Mary's 
arm.  He  spoke  now  as  one  who  loved  her  and 
understood. 

"  I  know,"  he  said,  "  exactly  what  this  choice 
means.  I  want  you  to  be  my  wife,  and  I  mean 
to  use  every  argument  to  persuade  you.  But  I  am 
going  to  be  quite  frank.  When  you  marry  me 
you  will  be  turning  away  from  a  great  deal.  But 
I  will  hold  you  very  precious.  We  shall  always 
be  comrades.  Can  you  do  this?  To  me  it  seems 
a  choice  between  marrying  for  yourself  and  marry- 
ing for  all  that  we  hold  most  dear.  Realise  what 
our  marriage  would  mean.  Already  we  have 
wealth  and  social  leading.  Soon  we  should  have 
supreme  political  office.  There  is  no  really  able 
man  of  my  age  on  the  Tory  side.  Our  house 
would  be  the  absolute  fortress  of  all  we  hold 
precious  in  the  country.  There  is  no  one  in  whom 
I  could  so  confidently  trust  as  you." 

Lady  Mary  looked  steadily  at  this  vision.  She 
knew  it  could  be  realised.  She  measured  the  full 
stature  of  Wenderby,  and  answered  the  call  of  her 
own  talent.  At  last  she  spoke,  rather  as  though 
she  wondered  to  herself  than  talked  with  another : 

"  But  our  marriage.  What  would  our  mar- 
riage be?  " 

"  Always  entirely  as  you  wished.  I  should  wait 
for  you  still,  and  hope  to  win  you.  I  should  never 
put  away  that  hope.  But  I  should  not  take  you 
for  granted." 

"  I  cannot  do  things  by  half,"  she  said,  bravely 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  235 

meeting  him.  "  If  I  marry  you,  I  shall  accept  all 
the  consequences." 

Wenderby  bent  his  head. 

"You  do  not  want  to  answer  me  now?"  he 
suggested. 

"  Come  for  my  answer  in  twelve  months." 

"  It  is  a  long  time." 

"  All  my  life  hangs  upon  this  decision.  Twelve 
months  is  nothing  at  all." 

"  Meantime,"  said  Wenderby,  "  we  meet  as 
usual." 

"  Of  course." 

"  You  will  tell  no  one  of  this?  " 

"  I  reserve  the  right  to  tell  my  brother." 

Wenderby  rose  to  go.  He  hesitated  as  they 
stood  together. 

"  Mary,"  he  said,  "  I  have  talked  coolly  and 
sensibly.  It  was  not  easy.  Try  and  believe 
that."  His  voice  sank  under  the  burden  of  his 
sincerity. 

"  I  care  with  my  whole  soul,"  he  added  abruptly. 

She  met  his  look  with  understanding  and  com- 
passion. 

He  took  the  hand  Peter  had  touched  and  lifted 
it.  She  drew  it  impulsively  away,  giving  him  the 
other  hand. 

"  A  year  from  now,"  he  said,  and,  kissing  her 
fingers,  went  quickly  from  the  room. 


XXXII 

LADY  MARY  had  a  sense  of  escape.  She  had  put 
off  the  immediate  need  to  decide  for  twelve 
months.  Almost  she  exulted  in  the  time  she  had 
won.  She  felt  she  had  saved  for  herself  a  year 
of  her  days  and  nights  —  a  year  in  which  to 
measure  the  issues. 

Peter  that  afternoon  had  never  seen  her  so 
radiant.  He  looked  at  her  continually,  and,  when 
for  a  moment  she  left  the  room  to  answer  a  mes- 
sage, it  seemed  as  if  a  light  had  gone  out. 

In  recoil  from  her  ordeal  of  the  morning  Lady 
Mary  gave  herself  free  rein.  She  accepted 
Peter's  worship,  and  allowed  the  climbing  current 
of  her  pleasure  to  flow.  It  seemed  like  the  begin- 
ning of  a  holiday. 

They  talked  quietly  of  indifferent  things.  Lady 
Mary  saw  that  Peter's  looks  were  openly  read  by 
his  mother.  Once,  as  Mrs.  Paragon  turned  from 
his  lost  face  to  Lady  Mary,  a  glance  of  intelligence 
passed  between  them. 

Lady  Mary  kissed  Mrs.  Paragon  at  parting. 

"You  are  not  anxious  about  him?"  she  said, 
as  Peter  waited  for  his  mother  at  the  door. 

"  Peter  finds  his  own  way.  I  can  trust  him 
with  you,"  said  Mrs.  Paragon. 

In  the  evening,  after  her  maid  had  left  her,  Lady 
236 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  237 

Mary  sat  in  the  firelight  of  her  room  alone 
with  her  problem.  For  months  to  come  she  suf- 
fered these  solitary  hours,  looking  into  a  future 
she  could  not  read.  Her  duty  became  less  clear 
as  the  days  passed.  She  doubted  the  necessity  of 
her  sacrifice.  Would  it  ultimately  weigh  in  his- 
tory? Was  she  justified  in  giving  herself  to  a 
doubtful  cause?  In  an  agony  of  regret  she  saw 
herself  turning  from  the  virginal  adoration  of  the 
boy  she  loved  to  long  years  of  devoted  work  for 
a  country  that  neither  wanted  her  nor  would 
understand. 

These  moods  inexorably  came,  but  at  first  they 
were  few  and  far.  In  Peter's  company  the  holiday 
persisted.  Wenderby  heard  of  them  everywhere 
together.  One  morning,  on  his  way  to  the  House, 
he  saw  them  in  the  Park.  They  were  riding  at  a 
gallop,  glowing  with  laughter.  He  stood  on  the 
path,  unseen,  and  turned  sadly  away  with  the 
picture  of  their  dancing  faces  firmly  drawn  upon 
his  brain.  He  framed  them  in  a  window  opposite 
the  Treasury  Bench. 

Peter  was  already  deeply  committed  to  the 
routine  of  London.  He  was  popular.  His  youth 
was  a  perpetual  delight  to  hostesses  for  whom  a 
boy  of  twenty-four  was  a  precious  discovery. 

His  readiness  to  enter  into  things  eagerly  and 
without  reserve  was  the  quaintest  of  pleasures  to 
watch.  It  was  all  the  more  entertaining  to  Peter's 
friends  owing  to  the  rapidity  with  which  he  ex- 
hausted his  ideas,  emotions,  hobbies,  and  acquaint- 


238  PETER  PARAGON 

ances,  and  the  impetuosity  with  which  he  discarded 
them.  It  was  his  charm  to  be  the  most  lovable  of 
spendthrifts;  and  the  charm  of  his  desire  to  rush  at 
everything  as  it  came  was  enhanced  for  the  women 
who  welcomed  him  by  their  knowledge  of  his  abso- 
lute integrity.  He  seemed  to  unite  the  energy  and 
frank  joy  of  a  wilful  libertine  with  the  austere 
purity  of  a  Galahad.  Peter's  was  an  eager,  quest- 
ing purity,  whose  adventure  was  watched  by  many 
of  his  friends  with  an  almost  passionate  solicitude. 

The  winter  drew  in,  and  rapidly  passed.  Peter 
began  to  lose  the  edge  of  his  enthusiasm  for  the 
new  life.  He  soon  realised  that  at  Highbury  he 
had  found  the  best,  and  that  London  was  inferior. 
It  was  not  upon  the  level  he  had  measured  by 
Eustace  Haversham.  He  began  to  be  sensible 
of  a  shabby  side  to  the  frank  hedonism  which  had 
at  first  seemed  all  free  nature  and  ready  fellow- 
ship. A  quiet  and  gradual  disappointment  flung 
him  the  more  devotedly  upon  Lady  Mary.  He 
was  entirely  happy  to  be  her  constant  friend. 
Now  that  the  shadow  of  Wenderby  had  passed  — 
Wenderby  hardly  saw  her  at  this  time  —  Peter 
felt  only  an  untroubled  comfort  in  her  presence. 
She  was  his  particular  angel,  a  shrine  for  his 
private  adoration.  The  perfect  symbol  of  his 
emotion  at  meeting  her  was  the  cool  clasp  of  her 
hand. 

Lady  Mary  was  content  that  this  should  be  so. 
She  thought  of  Peter  as  of  a  sleeping  boy,  who 
one  day,  if  she  were  free,  would  wake  to  her. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  239 

She  watched  him  curiously,  and  with  fear,  for 
knowledge  to  stir  in  him.  She  knew  that  at  the 
first  flutter  she  would  have  to  meet  her  problem 
with  an  answer. 

The  winter  passed,  and  spring  began  warmly 
to  enter.  The  lonely  hours  of  her  stress  became 
more  intolerable.  Her  holiday  was  passing,  and 
her  conscience  was  astir.  Surely  she  must  take 
Peter,  or  send  him  away.  She  would  soon  be 
unable  to  part  with  him. 

Curiously  she  felt  no  scruples  as  to  Peter  him- 
self —  that  she  was  betraying  him  into  a  love  she 
might  have  to  deny.  She  felt  that  for  him  it  was 
safest  to  continue  quietly  beside  her.  Were  she 
to  dismiss  him  suddenly,  it  would  provoke  in  him 
the  storm  she  feared.  He  had  come  unbidden 
into  her  life,  and  she  knew  he  would  not  leave  it 
without  a  struggle. 

The  burden  became  at  last  too  heavy.  She  must 
share  it,  or  run  for  ever  round  in  the  circle  of  her 
thoughts.  Upon  an  evening  in  April  she  heard 
her  brother  pass  along  the  corridor  as  she  sat  in 
her  room.  She  called  to  him. 

"Tony,"  she  said,  "'I  want  you  to  know 
something." 

Haversham  looked  at  her  keenly.  He  had 
lately  seen  little  of  his  sister  or  of  Peter.  The 
session  had  been  very  heavy,  and  the  estate  had 
also  to  be  visited.  Haversham  was  by  more  than 
twelve  months  older  than  he  was  a  year  ago. 

"  Is  it  Peter?  "  he  asked  quietly. 


24o  PETER  PARAGON 

She  shrank  from  an  opening  so  direct. 

'*  Not  altogether,"  she  said. 

"  It  is  partly  Peter." 

"  Yes,"  she  admitted. 

"  I  saw  it  coming,  Mary.  You  are  only  a  sister 
of  the  younger  branch.  You  can  marry  for  your- 
self. You  are  not  worrying  about  that?  " 

His  quiet  accepting  of  Peter  made  it  harder  for 
Lady  Mary  to  go  on.  Instinctively  she  felt  that 
her  brother  would  be  against  her  when  he  knew  the 
rest.  She  shut  her  eyes  and  rushed  at  her 
confession. 

"  Lord  Wenderby,"  she  said,  "  asked  me  to 
marry  him  six  months  ago." 

"Wenderby?" 

The  surprise  in  his  voice  uttered  the  quick  leap 
of  his  mind.  He  came  towards  her.  "  Tell  me," 
he  said,  "  there  is  more  in  this  than  a  proposal  of 
marriage.  Am  I  right?  " 

"  Yes,  Tony.  If  I  marry  Lord  Wenderby,  he 
will  leave  the  Cabinet." 

Haversham's  eyes  dangerously  glittered. 

"  You  mean,"  he  said,  "  that  Wenderby's  polit- 
ical services  are  a  wedding  present?  " 

"  He  isn't  sure  what  he  ought  to  do.  I  can  help 
him  to  decide." 

"  I  see,"  said  Haversham  quietly.  "  Let  me 
think  of  this." 

He  rapidly  looked  at  the  facts.  He  saw  them 
clearly,  in  a  hard,  political  light.  Haversham  had 
just  come  through  a  session  of  weary  work  in  the 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  241 

House.  Temper  was  hardening  on  both  sides. 
The  Government  was  shaken,  but  its  power  for 
mischief  was  still  incalculable.  Just  at  this 
moment  Wenderby's  defection  would  recast  the 
entire  position.  Haversham  swept  into  the  future, 
thinking  only  of  his  country.  He  turned  back  to 
his  sister. 

"  Mary,  darling.     Can  you  do  this?  " 

She  looked  at  him  with  dismay.  She  wanted 
for  Peter  the  help  he  was  giving  to  Wenderby. 

'  You  think  it  is  my  duty?  "  she  suggested. 

"  It  is  your  duty."     He  uttered  it  like  a  doom. 

"But,  Antony,"  she  pleaded,  "are  you  sure? 
Think  what  it  means." 

He  hesitated  a  moment;  then,  taking  her  by 
the  arms,  he  searched  her  face. 

"  Can  you  reasonably  do  this?  "  he  asked. 

"  Reasonably?  "  she  echoed. 

"  I  mean,  you  are  reasonably  fond  of 
Wenderby?" 

"  I  trust  him  utterly." 

*  Then  it  is  only  Peter." 

"  Peter  is  my  youth,"  she  cried  out,  "  and  my 
right  to  be  loved." 

He  felt  her  pain,  and  hated  the  influence 
he  used. 

"  It  is  very  difficult,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 
"  Are  the  things  for  which  we  stand  worth  while  ? 
Surely  we  must  think  that  they  are." 

She  again  felt  the  trap  closing  about  her. 

"  How  clearly  you  see  things,  Tony." 


242  PETER  PARAGON 

"  Mary,  darling,  I  see  things  as  Lord  Haver- 
sham.  But  I  would  to  God  this  were  not  asked 
of  you." 

The  words  burst  from  him  as  he  saw  the  tears 
gather  in  his  sister's  eyes.  At  the  tenderness  of 
his  voice  the  barriers  of  her  grief  broke  down. 
She  wept  in  his  arms,  but  at  last  drew  erect. 

"  You  are  quite  sure,  Tony?  "  she  asked  again. 

"  Yes,  dear." 

"  I  will  remember  this  talk  when  the  time 
comes." 

Haversham  did  not  inquire  when  this  time 
would  be.  He  left  everything  now  to  his  sister, 
inwardly  deciding  not  to  persuade  her  further. 

"  Meantime,"  he  lightly  suggested,  "  what  is 
happening  to  Peter?  " 

"  He  holds  me  too  precious  to  be  loved,  but  I 
am  afraid  there  will  be  trouble  when  I  send  him 
away." 

"  I  wonder,"  reflected  Haversham. 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,"  she  insisted. 

"  He  may  surprise  you  yet,"  answered  Haver- 
sham. "  There  is  a  blind  side  to  Peter.  Some- 
times I  think  he  was  intended  for  a  monk.  He 
has  a  dedicated  look." 

"  He  loves  me,  Tony,  and  he  will  discover  it." 

"  Cannot  you  spare  him  the  knowledge?  " 

Lady  Mary  shook  her  head. 

"  Peter  loved  me  at  Highbury,"  she  insisted. 
"  I  shall  have  nothing  on  my  conscience." 

Haversham  sat  that  night  in  his  room  in  quiet 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  243 

contemplation  of  the  advice  he  had  instinctively 
given  to  his  sister.  It  displeased  him  to  think  how 
promptly  and  easily  he  had  declared  against  the 
friend  of  his  own  years.  He  realised  that  a  season 
or  so  ago  he  would  not  so  immediately  have  per- 
ceived where  his  sister's  duty  lay.  Was  there, 
after  all,  something  in  Peter's  ineradicable  con- 
tempt for  politics?  Did  they  not  rub  the  finer 
edges  from  a  man? 

Peter,  after  all,  was  his  friend.  He  saw  him 
with  a  pang,  eager  and  impetuous;  and  knew  how 
savagely  his  sister's  marriage  with  Wenderby 
would  tear  him.  There  was  nothing  tangibly 
ignoble  —  nothing  that  a  man  of  worldly  years 
would  boggle  at  —  in  Wenderby's  proposal  to 
Lady  Mary.  Nevertheless  Haversham  realised 
that  young  Marbury  twelve  months  ago  would 
have  recoiled  with  a  faint  disgust  from  this  attempt 
upon  his  sister.  Undoubtedly  he  had  changed. 
A  year  of  politics,  of  arrangements  and  compro- 
mises, of  difficult  dealings  with  men  of  many 
tempers  and  desires,  had  caused  young  Marbury 
to  seem  like  a  legend,  remote  and  debonair,  to 
thoughtful  Haversham.  He  had,  almost  without 
thinking,  thrown  over  his  friend,  perceived  the 
wisdom  of  his  sister's  great  alliance,  and  quite 
overlooked  the  faint  soil  in  Wenderby  of  a  finesse 
which  a  year  ago  would  rudely  have  jarred  him. 

Haversham  smiled  a  little  bitterly  into  the  fire 
as  he  thought  of  these  things  —  and  the  smile 
deepened  as  he  realised  that,  though  on  reflection 


244  PETER  PARAGON 

he  could  see  the  pity  of  it,  and  even  hope  that  youth 
might  even  now  defeat  them  all,  nevertheless  he 
could  himself  only  repeat  his  first  advice  and  con- 
duct. He  would  on  all  occasions  repeat  that 
Wenderby  was  a  man  of  perfect  honour,  even 
though  he  understood  the  impulsive  dislike  and 
distrust  of  Peter.  He  would  continue  to  insist 
that  the  mere  claims  of  youth  were  not  enough  to 
defeat  the  splendid  political  vision  this  marriage 
had  offered  to  their  eyes. 

Meantime  to  ease  the  pricking  of  his  conscience 
in  regard  to  Peter  he  assured  himself  that  Peter 
was  far  too  young  to  be  really  in  love  with  any- 
body —  with  Mary  least  of  all. 


XXXIII 

FROM  that  hour  Lady  Mary  began  to  face  the 
future  as  a  creditor.  Her  coming  days  with  Peter 
were  numbered  and  enjoyed  as  the  reward  of  her 
sacrifice. 

Yet  another  month  slipped  away.  The  year 
was  now  at  the  full  of  the  first  green,  and  London 
roared  at  the  height  of  the  season.  Peter  began 
to  be  much  oppressed  with  the  social  rush.  Much 
of  it  he  now  saw  as  mere  noise  and  hurry.  He 
read  steadily  in  the  morning,  for  he  still  intended 
seriously  to  be  called  to  the  Bar.  In  the  afternoon 
he  rode  or  went  for  long  solitary  journeys  on  the 
river.  An  evening  seldom  passed  without  meeting 
Lady  Mary.  They  frankly  exchanged  plans,  and 
schemed  for  snatches  of  conversation  in  crowded 
places. 

At  this  time  they  were  opportunely  invited  to 
leave  the  hurry  of  London  for  a  few  days  in  Nor- 
folk. A  friend  of  Haversham  had  got  together 
at  Wroxham  a  fleet  of  wherries.  Peter  and  Lady 
Mary  joined  the  same  boat  for  their  last  unclouded 
days  together.  Only  Lady  Mary  knew  how 
precious  and  irrevocable  they  were.  For  Peter 
they  were  slow  days  of  agreeable  idleness,  as  they 
glided  from  reach  to  reach  of  the  quietest  country 
in  the  world.  Always  there  was  the  same  circle 
of  sky,  with  an  idle  mill  and  rows  of  grey-green 

245 


246  PETER  PARAGON 

sedges;  the  quiet  lapping  of  water  and  plod  of  the 
quanting.  Tiny  villages  dropped  past  them,  with 
square  towers  and  clusters  of  small  buildings. 

Upon  the  third  evening  of  the  cruise,  Lady 
Mary  picked  up  some  London  letters  at  Potter 
Heigham.  One  was  from  Lord  Wenderby.  She 
opened  it  and  read : 

"  LADY  MARY, —  I  hope  you  will  not  regard  this 
as  a  breach  of  our  contract.  Things  are  moving 
quickly  in  the  Cabinet.  I  must  decide  at  once  to 
stay  or  go.  I  can  wait  for  you  six  days.  If  you 
cannot  now  help  me  to  break  with  my  ties  and 
interests  of  the  moment  I  must  put  away  our  vision 
of  the  future. 

"  I  saw  you  in  the  Park  the  other  day.  I  can- 
not hope  you  will  ever  be  my  wife.  Believe  that 
I  wish  you  all  the  happiness  of  your  heart. 

"  WENDERBY." 

Lady  Mary  answered  at  once.  She  told  Wen- 
derby to  come  for  his  answer  on  her  return  to 
London.  Meantime,  if  he  needed  to  know  her 
mind,  let  him  believe  all  that  he  wished. 

Now  she  had  only  two  days.  She  decided  to  tell 
Peter  in  London  when  they  returned.  Here  she 
would  part  from  him  without  a  destroying  word. 

The  last  evening  of  the  cruise  was  warm  with 
a  breeze  from  the  land  to  the  sea,  enough  for 
sailing.  Peter  and  Lady  Mary  sat,  after  an  early 
dinner,  together  on  deck.  Laughter  came  from 
the  drawing-room  below  —  a  London  drawing- 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  247 

room  planted  in  a  wilderness  of  marsh  and  water. 
Sunset  was  burning  itself  out.  Light  was  flung 
upon  miles  of  water,  making  of  the  country  about 
them  a  glimmering  palette.  The  mill  on  the  hori- 
zon was  derelict,  standing  black  and  crude,  an 
eyeless  giant,  blind  to  the  colour  of  earth  and  sky. 

Merriment  swelled  below  them.  A  clever  musi- 
cian parodied  the  latest  phase  of  a  modern  French 
composer. 

"  This,"  said  Peter  with  a  sardonic  gesture  at 
the  people  below,  "  is  a  return  to  Nature." 

'  You  are  more  scathing  than  you  know," 
answered  Lady  Mary  with  a  smile.  "  You  are 
listening  to  a  burlesque  of  the  latest  thing  in 
music,  written  in  the  scale  of  the  Opopo  islanders. 
The  Opopo  islanders  can  only  count  up  to  five. 
We  are  determined  to  be  primitive." 

"  I  should  like  to  sail  away  into  all  that,"  said 
Peter,  waving  his  arm  vaguely  at  the  sunset. 

Lady  Mary  caught  at  the  idea. 

"  Can  you  sail?  "  she  asked. 

"  Pretty  fair,"  said  Peter. 

"Then  why  not?" 

Lady  Mary  pointed  to  the  dinghy  beneath  them. 
The  mast  was  shipped,  and  the  sail  folded. 

"  Will  you  come?  "  asked  Peter. 

"  It  is  our  last  evening." 

Peter  did  not  hear  the  sorrow  of  her  phrase. 

"  Our  last  evening  of  the  simple  life,"  he 
laughed.  He  climbed  down,  and  held  the  ladder 
firm. 


248  PETER  PARAGON 

"How  are  you  for  wraps?"  he  called.  "It 
is  going  to  be  colder  later.  This  breeze  will 
freshen." 

Lady  Mary  smiled  at  his  expert  way. 

"  Where,"  she  inquired,  "  did  you  learn  all 
this?" 

"  I  learned  it  with  Antony.  We  did  this  sort 
of  thing  at  Oxford." 

The  reference  to  her  brother  brought  Lady 
Mary  again  in  view  of  her  sacrifice.  She  shivered 
and  was  silent  as  Peter  rowed  softly  out  into  the 
stream,  and  spread  the  tiny  sail.  The  breeze 
caught  it,  and  the  little  boat  leaned  over,  hesitated, 
and  swung  quickly  across  the  river.  The  air  fresh- 
ened upon  their  faces.  They  dropped  almost  in 
a  moment  away  from  the  lighted  flat,  and  soon 
were  alone,  speeding  at  ease  over  the  beautiful 
water. 

"Why  didn't  we  think  of  this  before?"  said 
Peter  happily.  He  pushed  over  the  tiller.  The 
little  boat  turned,  and  the  water  chuckled  under 
her  bows. 

"  Let  me  take  you  into  the  open.  The  breeze 
is  beginning  to  be  stiff  for  this  tiny  boat;  but  we 
can  always  lower  sail  if  it  gets  too  rough." 

"  Anything  to-night,"  said  Lady  Mary. 

"  I  love  to  hear  you  say  that,"  Peter  sang. 

They  passed  into  a  wide  lake,  and  were  soon 
far  from  the  shore,  which  showed  now  as  a  dark 
line  picked  out  here  and  there  with  light. 

"  Anything  to-night,"  Peter  echoed  the  phrase. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  249 

"  It  sounds,"  he  went  on,  "  as  if  the  present  mat- 
tered more  than  anything  in  the  world." 

The  breeze  was  stronger  as  they  neared  the 
middle  of  the  water.  The  boat  heeled  danger- 
ously. 

"  We've  too  much  canvas  for  a  tub,"  said  Peter. 
He  lowered  the  sail,  and  found  he  could  take  in  a 
tiny  reef.  The  hurry  of  the  little  boat  was  stilled. 
It  swung  idly  on  the  water,  and  the  wind  seemed 
to  have  left  them.  Peter  was  busy  with  the  sail, 
and  Lady  Mary  sat  still  as  a  statue  opposite  him, 
her  hand  on  the  side  of  the  boat.  His  happy  face 
was  intolerable.  How  would  he  take  the  news 
which  waited  for  him  at  home?  He  was  ready 
now  to  swing  the  reefed  sail  to  the  mast,  but  she 
impulsively  stopped  him. 

"  Don't  do  that,"  she  said  abruptly. 

"  The  boat  will  stand  it,"  Peter  protested. 

"It's  not  that,"  said  Lady  Mary.  "Let  us 
stay  a  while  in  this  open  place." 

Her  tone  arrested  him.  It  was  urgent  and  en- 
treating. He  dropped  the  sail  into  the  boat,  and 
they  sat  silent  for  a  time.  Lady  Mary  was  blam- 
ing her  weakness.  Why  did  she  not  at  once  signal 
for  that  brief  run  over  the  little  span  of  water 
between  them  and  the  fleet?  It  would  take  her  to 
the  duty  she  had  accepted.  Her  holiday  was 
finished. 

Peter  misread  the  entreaty  in  her  voice. 

"  You  do  not  want  to  go  back?  "  he  said. 

"  Not  at  once." 


250  PETER  PARAGON 

"  You,  too,  find  all  that  less  inspiring  than  it 
seems?  "  He  waved  his  hand  towards  the  people 
they  had  left. 

"  This  is  better,  for  a  time,"  she  answered 
evasively. 

"You  still  believe  in  all  that?"  He  looked 
towards  the  lighted  masts,  his  face  troubled  and 
perplexed. 

"  Of  course  I  believe,"  she  assured  him. 

Peter  eagerly  bent  forward.  '  You  remem- 
ber," he  said  softly,  "  a  night  upon  the  terrace  at 
Highbury?" 

Lady  Mary  looked  at  him,  terror  waiting  to 
spring  at  her  heart. 

"  I  hardly  know,"  Peter  continued,  "  whether 
I  still  believe  all  that  I  believed  at  Highbury.  It 
is  all  too  insolent,  and  some  of  it  is  foolish  and 
cruel.  I  have  seen  ugly  and  brutal  things.  I  am 
beginning  to  see  that  there  are  no  classes.  Rank 
is  nothing  at  all.  There  are  only  people." 

Why  did  he  talk  like  that  to-night?  It  was 
intolerable. 

"You  are  wrong,"  she  cried  out.  !<  Wealth  is 
nothing,  and  there  are  bad  shoots  in  an  old  tree. 
But  there  are  men  and  women  who  must  think 
and  rule.  It  is  their  right." 

"  That  may  be  only  your  beautiful  dream." 

"  Peter,"  she  called  distressfully,  "  you  don't 
know  what  you  are  saying." 

He  looked  at  her  in  wonder  at  the  veiled  agony 
of  her  voice.  The  pure  white  line  of  her  face 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  251 

showed  like  stone  in  the  shutting  light.  There 
was  a  short  silence.  Then  Lady  Mary  spoke 
again: 

"  I  want  you  to  suppose  something,"  she  said 
urgently.  "  It  is  possible  that  I  may  be  asked  to 
make  a  sacrifice  for  this  belief  of  mine.  It  will 
be  painful  for  me  and  for  my  dearest  friend." 

"  Nothing  in  the  world  is  worth  a  moment  of 
your  pain." 

Peter's  sincerity  redeemed  from  ridicule  the 
tragic  untimeliness  of  his  dithyrambic  assurance. 
Lady  Mary  was  brought  nearer  to  tears  than  to 
laughter. 

"  Not  even  my  faith?  "  she  protested. 

"  It  would  be  an  evil  faith,  or  it  would  not 
make  you  suffer." 

"  Why  do  you  put  me  so  high?  "  Again  there 
was  a  note  of  stress. 

"  I  shall  always  do  that." 

He  put  his  hand  firmly  upon  hers  that  rested  on 
the  side  of  the  boat.  She  held  her  breath,  fighting 
the  desperate  flutter  of  her  soul.  When  she  dared 
to  look  at  him,  she  still  met  the  shining  worship 
of  a  boy.  His  hand  rested  upon  hers,  temperate 
and  cool.  She  was  glad  she  had  not  trembled  or 
drawn  away.  Peter  felt  only  an  exquisite  sense 
of  privilege.  He  sat  with  bright  eyes,  happy  in 
her  beautiful  austerity.  She  triumphed  over  her 
thrilled  senses,  and  in  her  triumph  faced  him 
carven  and  tense. 

The  light  faded  rapidly.     Colour  went  out  of 


252  PETER  PARAGON 

the  sky  and  the  water.  Lady  Mary  took  a  long 
farewell  of  Peter's  adoration.  She  knew  that  the 
light  in  his  eyes  was  soon  to  be  put  out. 

At  last,  with  a  deep  sigh,  her  hand  still  quietly 
held,  she  said: 

"  Now,  Peter,  we  must  go.  We  have  no  light 
in  the  boat." 

He  reluctantly  made  ready  the  sail.  The 
breeze  caught  it  rudely.  Their  dream  was  broken 
up  with  the  noise  of  water  and  wind.  They  came 
within  sight  and  sound  of  the  river.  Peter 
lowered  the  sail  to  row  in  to  the  side  of  their 
wherry.  There  was  only  a  moment  now. 

Lady  Mary  caught  at  Peter's  wrist  upon  the 
oars. 

"  You  will  believe  in  me  always,  Peter?  " 

"  Always." 

"  My  life  may  take  me  away  from  you,"  she 
desperately  urged.  "  We  read  things  differently." 

A  burst  of  laughter  came  from  the  deck  of  the 
wherry.  Lady  Mary  withdrew  her  hand  from 
Peter's  wrist. 

"  Nothing  in  the  world  can  shake  my  belief  in 
you,"  said  Peter,  still  pausing  on  the  oars. 

;'  That  is  easily  said." 

Lady  Mary  cried  out  in  pain  at  the  light  heart 
of  the  boy  she  loved. 

"  I  mean  it  in  every  fibre,"  Peter  insisted.  "  I 
am  utterly  yours." 

"  Row  in  to  the  boat,"  said  Lady  Mary. 
11  This  is  the  end." 


XXXIV 

PETER  and  Lady  Mary  travelled  up  to  London 
next  morning  in  the  same  train.  They  separated 
at  Arlington  Street,  and  she  asked  him  to  come 
and  see  her  on  the  evening  of  the  following  day. 
Peter  lightly  promised,  and  happily  left  her. 

Late  in  the  day  he  sat  with  his  mother  in  Curzon 
Street  with  open  windows,  idle  and  reminiscent. 
His  talk  in  the  boat  with  Lady  Mary  had  em- 
phasized his  impressions  of  the  life  he  was  leading. 
It  was  not  all  wise  and  beautiful.  His  absurd 
enthusiasm  had  again  been  mocked.  He  meas- 
ured what  he  had  saved  from  the  wreck  of  his 
expectations.  The  people  with  whom  he  now  was 
living  were  more  frank  and  free  than  any  he  had 
known.  They  were  on  the  whole  without  fear. 
They  feared  neither  men,  nor  words,  nor  the  satis- 
faction of  their  heart's  desire.  But  he  had  not 
found,  and  would  not  find,  Eustace  Haversham 
repeated. 

He  considered  Lady  Mary.  Was  not  the  world 
justified  in  that  it  put  her  high  above  fear  and  cal- 
culation, bidding  her  be  queenly  and  untroubled? 
Peter  tried  to  see  her  snatched  from  her  world  of 
policy  and  grace.  Might  she  not  show  fairer  yet, 
seen  apart  from  the  things  for  which  she  stood  2 

253 


254  PETER  PARAGON 

Last  night  she  had  seemed  like  a  creature  with 
wings  caught  and  held.  How  would  they  fare, 
those  beating  wings,  if  the  common  round  too 
obstinately  claimed  her  ?  Jealousy  caught  at  Peter 
—  the  jealousy  he  had  felt  years  ago  when  he 
saw  a  woman  of  the  street  pass  to  her  desecration. 

"How  much  do  I  love  her?"  he  asked, 
prompted  by  the  pain  at  his  heart. 

He  loved  her  as  far  as  the  clasping  of  hands  and 
his  privileged  admission  to  regard  closely  her  per- 
fection. His  passion  was  a  strong  resolve  that 
she  should  purely  stand  to  be  adored,  not  familiar, 
too  delicate  to  catch  at  rudely  for  a  possession. 

His  thoughts  were  shattered  by  a  screaming  in 
the  street.  Something  extraordinary  had  hap- 
pened. Peter  moved  to  the  window,  and  saw  a 
newsboy  rushing  down  from  Piccadilly.  Servants 
hurried  from  the  doors,  and  bought  the  papers 
as  he  came.  Peter  at  last  heard  the  news,  and 
saw  the  big  black  letters  of  the  boy's  fluttering 
bill.  Wenderby  had  resigned.  Peter  turned  im- 
patiently away.  These  politics  did  not  touch  him. 

But  London  was  clearly  interested.  Next 
morning  the  papers  were  heavy  with  this  great 
event.  It  stared  at  Peter  from  every  corner  of 
the  street.  Peter  did  not  trouble  to  read  the  ex- 
cited press.  Since  Wenderby  had  ceased  to  cloud 
the  presence  of  his  angel  Peter  had  not  regarded 
him.  Frequently  he  paused  that  morning  in  his 
quiet  reading  of  the  law,  but  he  paused  to  think 
only  of  an  evening  with  Lady  Mary. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  255 

Lady  Mary  was  with  Wenderby  at  that  moment 
in  her  drawing-room  at  Arlington  Street. 

"  I  am  pledged  to  you,  Lord  Wenderby,"  she 
was  saying;  and  he  answered: 

"  You  talk  like  a  creditor." 

"  Are  you  not  a  creditor?  "  she  insisted.  "  You 
have  put  me  beyond  remedy  into  your  debt." 

"  My  resignation  had  to  come  last  night,  or  not 
at  all,"  he  explained.  "  I  was  not  trying  to  force 
you." 

She  measured  him  with  a  look,  deliberate  and 
frank. 

"  If  I  thought  you  were  trying  to  force  me," 
she  said,  "  I  should  not  be  listening  to  you  now. 
Your  debt  will  be  paid  in  full.  But  you  must  give 
me  time.  There  are  things  you  must  allow  me  to 
forget." 

Wenderby  rose  to  go.  He  held  her  hand  at 
parting,  and  hesitated  a  moment.  The  settled 
sadness  of  her  manner  showed  him  that  she  was 
looking  back;  showed  him  also  that  she  had  faced 
the  future,  and  would  not  weakly  remember  things 
she  must  put  away. 

"  Mary,"  he  said,  "  if  you  cannot  reasonably  go 
through  with  this,  remember  that  I  resigned  last 
night  for  the  chance  of  you.  It  was  only  a 
chance." 

"  It  was  a  safe  chance,"  she  answered  quickly; 
"  a  chance  that  depended  on  my  honour." 

Wenderby  gratefully  accepted  her  decision. 
He  became  practical. 


256  PETER  PARAGON 

"  How  would  you  have  it  arranged?  "  he  asked. 
"  I  mean  the  formal  part  of  it." 

"  We  must  meet,  and  be  publicly  seen.  The  en- 
gagement —  shall  we  say  three  months  from 
now?" 

Her  sobriety  misgave  him.  He  began  to  realise 
the  extent  of  her  sacrifice.  Had  he  pressed  her 
unfairly  ? 

"  You  are  sure  you  can  go  on  with  this?  "  he 
urgently  asked,  again  opening  a  way  of  retreat. 

"  Quite  sure,"  she  firmly  answered.  "  I  cannot 
yet  be  glad  of  this  event;  but  I  shouldn't  under- 
take to  be  your  wife  if  I  did  not  think  I  was  able  to 
keep  faith.  I  shall  join  you  gladly,  and  without 
reserve." 

Wenderby  bent  his  head. 

"  I  don't  think  you  will  regret  this,"  he  said 
with  deep  emotion.  "  Everything  I  have  is  now 
devoted  to  you  and  the  things  which  are  dear  to 
you.  But  I  won't  urge  personal  feeling  on  you 
now.*' 

He  pressed  her  hand  in  a  quick  and  friendly 
farewell.  In  another  moment  she  was  alone,  able 
to  think  of  her  coming  interview  with  Peter.  She 
had  begun  to  dread  this  so  keenly  that  in  a  fit  of 
shrinking  she  had  almost  written  to  him.  She 
feared  to  see  his  pain,  and  trembled  for  its  effect 
upon  herself. 

Peter's  invitation  was  for  dinner  at  Arlington 
Street.  Shortly  before  he  came  Lady  Mary  talked 
with  her  brother.  He  had  just  arrived  in  town, 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  257 

brought  by  Wenderby's  resignation.  He  at  once 
looked  for  his  sister. 

They  greeted  in  the  drawing-room  shortly  be- 
fore dinner. 

;'  This  is  great  news,"  he  began.  "  I  came  up 
from  Yorkshire  with  the  Chief  Whip.  He  thinks 
we  shall  turn  them  out."  He  paused,  and  looked 
closely  at  his  sister. 

"  I  am  very  proud  of  you,  Mary,"  he  went  on. 
"  You  have  accepted  the  work  of  your  life." 

Lady  Mary  had  lately  seen  little  of  Haversham. 
His  work  began  utterly  to  absorb  him.  She  put 
her  hand  on  his  arm. 

;<  Tony,"  she  said,  "  I  sometimes  wonder  if  I'm 
not  losing  a  brother." 

"  Mary,  dear,"  he  protested,  "  you  are  more 
than  ever  precious  to  me  now." 

Lady  Mary  sadly  shook  her  head. 

"  Your  first  word  to  me  was  of  the  Chief  Whip," 
she  reminded  him. 

Haversham  was  touched.  He  put  his  hand 
gently  on  his  sister's  arm. 

;'  We  do  not  belong  to  ourselves,"  he  pleaded. 
'*  This  act  of  yours  is  a  public  thing." 

"  I  have  a  personal  thing  still  left  to  do," 
she  said.  "  Peter  is  coming  to-night.  You  must 
leave  him  with  me." 

"  That  will  be  easy,"  he  assured  her.  "  They're 
all  political  people  this  evening.  We  shall  go  on 
afterwards  to  the  House." 

The  talk  at  dinner  was  all  of  Wenderby's  resig- 


258  PETER  PARAGON 

nation.  The  division  that  night  would  show  the 
strength  of  his  following.  Peter  was  exasperated 
by  the  persistence  with  which  this  event  pursued 
him. 

"Is  this  resignation  really  important?"  he 
asked  in  an  early  pause  of  the  conversation.  Lady 
Mary  had  left  her  seat  at  the  foot  of  the  table. 

"  Important!  "  his  neighbour  exclaimed  at  him. 
"  Why,  it's  the  most  important  event  in  politics  for 
fifty  years.  It  changes  everything." 

"  This,  Peter,  is  not  one  of  those  important 
things  which  happen  every  day,"  said  Haversham 
quietly.  "  I  would  have  given  almost  anything 
to  bring  this  about." 

"  At  any  rate,  Haversham,"  said  one  of  the 
politicians,  "  you  have  helped  it  a  little." 

"  I'm  afraid  not." 

"  Just  a  little,  I  think,"  the  politician  insisted. 
"  Your  friendship  with  Wenderby  must  have 
counted.  These  personal  things  do  weigh.  Wen- 
derby was  not  very  comfortable  with  his  late 
friends." 

"  Lord  Wenderby's  change  of  party,  I  suppose, 
is  final?  "  Peter  politely  suggested. 

"  Quite,"  said  Haversham  curtly. 

"  He'll  certainly  stay  with  us,"  chuckled  Peter's 
neighbour.  "  We  shall  make  it  worth  while." 

"  There's  less  competition  on  our  side,"  said 
another.  "  We  haven't  any  brains  under  sixty- 
five." 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  259 

"  Moreover,"  said  Haversham  incisively, 
"  Wenderby  is  a  man  of  honour." 

"  Has  that  anything  to  do  with  it?  "  Peter  must 
somehow  persist  in  his  hostility.  He  could  only 
think  of  Wenderby  as  an  adventurer.  Haversham 
lifted  a  finger  at  him : 

"  Peter,"  he  said,  "  we  shall  quarrel  if  you  can- 
not help  being  rude  to  one  of  my  best  friends. 
You  must  believe  in  Wenderby.  You  don't  know 
how  essential  it  is." 

They  broke  up,  and  prepared  to  leave  for  the 
House.  Haversham  told  Peter  he  would  find 
Lady  Mary  in  her  drawing-room.  Peter  went 
happily  to  discover  her.  He  had  seen  her  room 
only  once  before.  He  remembered  with  pleasure 
how  exquisitely  it  framed  her. 


XXXV 

THE  servants  were  removing  the  coffee  as  he  came 
in,  and  Lady  Mary  was  softly  at  the  piano.  She 
continued  her  music  after  they  were  alone,  Peter 
watching  her  in  a  light  soft  as  the  blurred  har- 
monies of  her  playing.  She  had  never  seemed  so 
elusive.  At  last  she  abruptly  turned. 

"  What  would  you  do,  Peter,  if  this  were  our 
last  evening  together?  " 

Peter  was  surprised  at  her  sudden  question. 
He  took  it  seriously,  and  thought  a  little. 

"  I  should  sit  quietly  here,"  he  said  at  last, 
"  and  learn  you  by  heart." 

"  But  you  would  want  to  talk,"  she  protested. 

"  There  has  been  talking  enough." 

She  had  come  from  the  piano,  and  now  sat  near 
him  upon  a  low  chair.  The  silence  deepened  as 
she  hunted  for  an  opening.  Then  suddenly  she 
uttered  her  secret  thought : 

"  I  wonder  how  much  you  love  me,  Peter?  " 

Peter  did  not  in  words  answer  her  quiet  specu- 
lation. He  dropped  softly  beside  her  on  the  rug, 
putting  his  free  hand  between  hers.  There  calmly 
it  lay  upon  her  lap  as  he  looked  at  the  fire.  The 
minutes  passed  till  Lady  Mary  found  them  in- 
tolerable. Her  hands  closed  tightly  upon  his. 

260 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  261 

"  Peter,  dear,"  she  whispered. 

Peter  turned  slowly  towards  her,  startled  by  the 
stress  of  her  voice,  startled  yet  more  when  he 
found  it  in  her  eyes. 

"  You  are  in  trouble?  " 

"  I  have  something  to  tell  you,"  she  said. 

"About  yourself?  " 

Lady  Mary  bent  her  head. 

"  You  remember,"  she  went  on,  "  our  evening 
on  the  water?  " 

"  I  shall  not  forget  it." 

"  I  said  then  that  the  time  might  come  when  I 
should  be  drawn  away  from  you." 

"  That  is  impossible,"  he  protested.  "  I  can- 
not lose  you.  I  shall  always  know  that  you  are 
wonderful." 

"  Will  you  always  think  of  me  like  that?  "  she 
mournfully  wondered. 

"  You  are  sacred,"  said  Peter  simply.  He  bent 
to  kiss  her  fingers,  but  she  drew  them  sharply  back. 

"  No,  Peter,"  she  cried  in  pain;  "  I  have  given 
your  hand  away." 

Peter  stared  at  her. 

"  Do  you  mean,"  he  slowly  asked,  "  that  I  have 
no  share  in  you  at  all  ?  " 

"  Tell  me  " —  she  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  and  her 
eyes  were  veiled  — "  will  you  hold  me  sacred  " — 
she  shyly  quoted  his  word  — "  as  the  wife  of 
another  man?  " 

Peter  struggled  with  this  new  idea.  It  raised  in 
him  a  bitter  confusion.  His  calm  devotion  was 


262  PETER  PARAGON 

,  shaken  and  stirred.  Above  it  triumphed  a  sense 
of  loss,  an  instinct  to  grasp  at  something  threat- 
ened. 

'  You  are  pledged?  "  he  abruptly  asked. 

"  Yes,  Peter."  It  came  from  her  like  a  con- 
fession. 

The  idea  was  now  being  driven  into  his  brain. 
He  looked  at  Lady  Mary  as  he  had  not  looked 
before.  She  sat  back  in  her  chair,  turning  aside 
from  him.  With  opened  eyes,  he  saw  now  the 
beauty  of  a  woman  snatched  away.  He  leant 
towards  her,  uttering  one  hungry  syllable: 

"Who?" 

It  was  the  first  time  Peter's  voice  had  challenged 
her.  The  adoration  had  gone  out  of  it.  It  was 
hard. 

"  Does  it  matter?  "  she  protested. 

"  It  is  a  secret,  then?  "  he  coldly  asked. 

"No;  I  have  promised  to  marry  Lord  Wen- 
derby." 

"  Lord  Wenderby,"  he  echoed. 

The  name  tore  savagely  at  his  heart,  wounding 
him  into  jealousy  and  distrust.  He  was  all  blind 
passion  now.  Wenderby  sprang  to  his  eye,  as 
he  had  stood  darkly  beside  Lady  Mary  at  the 
theatre.  He  saw,  redly,  in  his  galloping  mind,  his 
shining  angel  —  now  a  beautiful  woman  he  had 
exquisitely  touched  —  possessed  by  another. 

"  Turn  to  me,  Lady  Mary." 

It  was  a  command,  and  she  obeyed.    She  bravely 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  263 

met  his  burning  look,  but  she  did  not  know  how 
unendurable  it  had  become.  It  searched  and  de- 
nounced her.  Her  eyes  failed. 

'  You  do  not  love  Lord  Wenderby." 

Now  he  accused  her.  She  collected  her  mind 
for  a  defence. 

"  It  is  not  so  simple  as  that,"  she  pleaded. 

"  You  do  not  love  him,"  he  repeated. 

She  drew  herself  erect  and  faced  him. 

"  You  must  not  speak  like  that,"  she  said. 
'  You  are  talking  wildly.  I  tell  you  again  this  is 
not  a  simple  thing." 

"  Love  is  a  simple  thing,"  he  rudely  countered. 

"  You  are  disappointing  me,  Peter." 

The  pain  in  her  eyes  for  a  moment  arrested  his 
passion.  He  stood  away  from  her,  and  grasped 
at  his  vanishing  peace.  Lady  Mary  perceived  his 
effort,  and  appealed  once  more  to  the  boy  who  had 
so  suddenly  leaped  out  of  her  knowledge. 

"  You  will  listen  to  me,  Peter !  "  she  urged. 

He  stood  silently  waiting  to  hear  what  she  had 
to  say.  She  spoke  quickly,  running  from  the 
breaking  storm  in  his  eyes : 

"I  am  quite  content  to  be  the  wife  of  Lord 
Wenderby.  I  have  always  liked  him  and  admired 
him.  Six  months  ago  he  asked  me  if  I  would  help 
him  to  join  us  politically.  I  have  used  my  in- 
fluence to  bring  him  over.  This  pledges  me  to 
work  with  him." 

"  Does  it  pledge  you  to  be  his  wife?  " 


264  PETER  PARAGON 

"  That  is  understood." 

"  So  Lord  Wenderby  has  been  bribed,"  Peter 
flashed. 

He  looked  at  her  cold  and  hostile.  His 
thwarted  pride  of  possession  in  Lady  Mary  stirred 
a  cruelty  he  had  never  known. 

Between  love  and  anger  she  cried  to  him : 

;'  This  is  not  worthy  of  you,  Peter." 

But  Peter's  mind  was  busy  now  elsewhere.  He 
was  putting  time  and  fact  together. 

"  Lord  Wenderby  arranged  for  this  six  months 
ago,"  he  suggested. 

"  He  asked  me  to  be  his  wife  six  months  ago." 

Now  he  stabbed  at  her  again : 

'  You  have  let  me  love  the  promised  wife  of 
Lord  Wenderby  for  six  months." 

"  No,"  she  sharply  corrected  him;  "  I  answered 
him  yesterday." 

"But  you  had  this  in  your  mind?"  Peter 
insisted. 

Lady  Mary  was  too  deeply  grieved  for  dignity 
or  anger. 

"  I  am  on  my  defence,  it  seems,"  she  said, 
suddenly  weary  of  their  fruitless  talk. 

'  You  have  made  me  your  judge,"  he  bitterly 
retorted.  "  Why  else  do  you  tell  me  these 
things?" 

"  I  wanted  you  to  understand." 

"  I  shall  never  understand." 

Lady  Mary  looked  at  Peter,  and  saw  the  face 
of  an  enemy. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  265 

"  We  will  put  an  end  to  this,"  she  said.  "  It 
is  useless." 

She  moved  to  dismiss  him.  Peter  saw  her 
passing  to  another. 

He  took  her  by  the  arm,  harshly. 

'  You  cannot  so  easily  be  rid  of  me." 

"  I  do  not  know  you,  Peter,"  she  protested, 
drawing  away  from  him. 

He  released  her  as  to  the  troubled  surface  of  his 
mind  there  came  an  impulse  of  his  old  devotion. 

"  How  can  you  do  this  thing?  "  he  asked  in  a 
burst  of  grief.  "  You  were  the  angel  of  my  life." 

Her  pride  sank  at  this. 

"  Peter,  be  just  to  me,"  she  said.  "  This  is  a 
sacrifice." 

He  caught  at  the  word,  and  returned  to  his  old 
refrain. 

"  Sacrifice !     You  do  not  love  Lord  Wenderby." 

"  I  shall  be  his  wife.  I  am  content  to  work  with 
him." 

"  Lord  Wenderby  is  old,"  said  Peter  brutally. 

"  He  has  bribed  you  to  give  him  all  your  beautiful 
%« 

years. 

She  shrank  from  the  climbing  rhetoric  of  his 
passion. 

"  It  is  infamous,"  he  almost  shouted. 

Lady  Mary  flung  back  the  challenge. 

"  It  is  my  appointed  work.  I  shall  work  with 
Lord  Wenderby  for  all  I  hold  dear.  I  am  going 
to  live  as  Eustace  Haversham  died.  Cannot  you 
realise  that  this  is  required  of  me?  I  cannot 


266  PETER  PARAGON 

choose  only  for  myself.  You  must  understand  me, 
Peter.  I  can  only  endure  this  if  you  will  believe 
that  I  am  doing  what  is  right." 

Peter  was  obstinate. 

"  I  do  not  believe  it,"  he  said.  "  It  is  a  terrible 
mistake." 

"  Once  you  believed,"  she  reminded  him. 

"  I  believed  in  you." 

She  faced  him,  queenly  now,  as  when  Peter  had 
worshipped  her.  His  soul  fell  suddenly  at  her 
feet. 

"  I  still  believe  in  you,"  he  cried  out.  "  I  be- 
lieve that  you  are  too  dear  to  be  flung  away." 

"  I  cannot  value  myself  as  you  do." 
'  You  are  giving  yourself  up,"  he  said  con- 
temptuously, "  so  that  your  people  for  a  few  more 
years  may  live  as  we  are  living  now." 

"  So  that  we  may  for  a  few  more  years  be 
allowed  to  work  as  we  must,"  she  corrected  him. 

Peter  was  silent.  He  had  seen  her  justification, 
but  his  passion  prompted  him  to  put  it  away. 
Lady  Mary  now  touched  him  to  the  quick. 

"  You  begin  to  see  that  I  am  right,"  she  said, 
searching  for  his  acquiescence. 

"  I  see  nothing,"  he  insisted.  "  I  only  see  that 
I  am  losing  you." 

"  You  make  this  very  difficult,"  she  said, 
trembling  before  the  passion  of  his  voice. 

"  Difficult !  "  He  caught  her  by  the  arm. 
"  Why  should  you  care  what  I  say  or  believe?  " 

She  looked  at  his  fingers  imprinted  in  her  flesh. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  267 

She  was  weary  and  faint.  She  knew  that  love 
without  reserve  was  confessed  in  her  eyes. 

'  You  know  that  I  care,  Peter.  Please  let 
me  go." 

Peter  leaned  towards  her.  He  wanted  to  see 
her  face.  She  felt  that  in  a  moment  she  must 
yield  the  message  shut  under  her  lids.  She 
desperately  shook  free  of  him  and  stood  away. 
But  Peter  read  the  deep  flush  of  her  neck  and  the 
motion  she  made  to  suppress  the  labour  of  her 
breath.  She  superbly  filled  his  eyes  against  a  back- 
ground that  had  grown  dim.  He  caught  at  her. 

"  My  darling,"  he  suddenly  cried  out,  "  I  cannot 
let  you  go." 

She  felt  the  blood  rushing  to  cover  her. 

"  On  your  honour,  Peter." 

For  a  moment  he  was  checked.  "  Tell  me 
again  to  leave  you,"  he  said. 

She  faced  him,  and  her  eyes  were  fast  held.  He 
read  the  whole  of  her  secret.  In  a  flash  his  arms 
were  about  her. 

"  You  cannot  tell  me  to  go." 

She  rested  helplessly.  Peter  held  her  with  a 
fierce  pride.  He  would  not  surrender  her.  She 
closed  her  eyes  upon  a  whispered  entreaty  as  he 
touched  her.  lips.  He  felt  the  stir  of  her  heart, 
and  the  jealousy  of  possession  utterly  claimed  him. 
Something  wild  and  cruel  lit  in  him.  He  kissed 
her  upon  the  face  and  neck.  She  felt  them  as  the 
kisses  of  mere  hunger,  and  she  suddenly  rebelled. 

"  Peter,  you  dishonour  me."     Her  voice  smote 


268  PETER  PARAGON 

into  him  a  revelation.  Already  the  passion  had 
gone  out  of  him.  It  had  died  in  the  act  of  touch- 
ing her.  He  knew  what  he  had  done;  he  was 
utterly  ashamed.  His  arms  fell  away  from  her. 
He  stood  with  bent  head  waiting  for  her  decree. 

"  I  will  write  to  you,  Peter." 

He  accepted  his  dismissal,  turning  without  a 
word.  Lady  Mary  heard  that  the  door  had 
closed.  She  stood  silently  for  a  moment.  Then, 
all  that  evening,  she  lay  back  in  her  chair  stone 
still.  Her  eyes  were  tight  shut;  but  at  long  in- 
tervals a  tear  was  forced  from  under  her  lids,  and 
fell  insensibly. 


XXXVI 

PETER  blundered  away  into  the  streets,  an  outcast. 
He  walked  furiously  about,  getting  in  the  way  of 
people  who  looked  for  pleasure. 

He  lived  again  the  late  encounter.  Remotely 
he  saw  himself  quietly  at  the  feet  of  Lady  Mary, 
before  he  had  lost  his  happy  peace.  Then  the 
storm  was  loose,  and  he  saw  her  merely  as  one  to 
be  desired  and  held.  Finally,  his  imagination  in- 
exorably came  full  circle  in  the  cold  shame  with 
which  he  had  left  her.  He  repeated  continually 
the  moment  when  his  kisses  had  gone  out,  and  he 
knew  them  for  the  vulgar  gust  of  his  jealousy. 
Their  passion  had  not  been  true.  Lady  Mary  had 
cried  in  bitter  verity.  They  dishonoured  her. 

Was  all  the  story  equally  a  falsehood?  Peter, 
dipped  for  assurance  back  into  the  quiet  past. 
He  floated  again  with  Lady  Mary  under  a  dying 
sky,  and  saw  her  unattainably  fair,  with  a  hand 
that  quietly  rested  under  his.  Surely  this  had  been 
wonderful.  Not  even  the  stain  of  his  brutal 
hunger  for  her  dedicated  beauty  could  destroy  it. 

Why,  then,  did  he  so  certainly  know  that  his 
passion  to-night  was  evil?  His  conscience,  bring- 
ing him  to  a  reckoning,  told  him  that  he  did  not 
love  her.  There  was  a  rift,  not  to  be  closed,  be- 
tween his  adoration  of  Lady  Mary  and  the  passion 
with  which  he  had  thought  to  claim  her.  He  put 

269 


27o  PETER  PARAGON 

Wenderby  aside,  and  asked  himself  whether  he 
could  ever  have  taken  her  by  right  of  a  vital  need. 
His  imagination  would  not  allow  him  to  do  so. 
He  could  only  see  himself  for  ever  kneeling,  or 
delicately  touching  her  as  an  exquisite  privilege. 
He  could  not  again  repeat  the  physical  claim. 
Mere  coveting  had  prompted  it.  The  soul  had 
perished  on  his  lips. 

How  instantly  she  had  read  the  quality  of  his 
act.  Every  beat  of  the  quick  moment  of  his  taking 
her  was  minutely  divided  in  his  memory.  He 
felt  again  her  surrender,  her  expectation  of  the 
kiss  she  could  not  deny  —  the  farewell  moment  of 
her  youth  to  be  expiated  in  years  of  sacrifice. 
Then  suddenly  she  had  rebelled,  feeling  the  soul 
go  out  of  him,  protesting  against  her  dishonour. 

Peter  quailed  to  think  how  he  had  tortured  her. 
He  knew  now  that  Lady  Mary  loved  him.  She 
had  been  outraged  where  most  she  was  virginal. 

For  a  moment  Peter  caught  at  a  hope  that  yet 
the  mysterious  rift  might  close  between  the  soul 
and  body  of  his  love.  Must  he  always  be  thus 
divided  ?  Was  he  never  to  know  a  perfect  passion 
where  the  blood  ran  in  obedient  rapture  to  cele- 
brate the  meeting  of  two  in  one  ?  He  remembered 
the  beautiful  girl  he  had  tracked  on  a  summer 
night,  to  shrink  from  taking  her  because  his  spirit 
was  her  enemy.  Now  that  he  in  spirit  loved  Lady 
Mary  —  he  insistently  fought  through  to-day's 
murk  back  to  his  adoration  —  he  was  still  divided. 
His  moment  of  hope  died  out.  He  had  no  right 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  271 

to  Lady  Mary.  He  could  not  passionately  claim 
her.  His  passion  would  fail  again,  as  to-night  it 
had  failed,  leaving  only  the  senses  to  be  fed. 

He  did  not  love  her.  Brutally  it  came  to  that. 
Lady  Mary  must  take  the  way  she  had  herself 
appointed.  She  could  not  be  asked  to  put  away 
the  work  of  her  life  in  return  for  a  worship  that 
fed  upon  the  air,  or  for  a  hunger  that  seized  on  a 
vanishing  feast.  Himself  he  felt  entirely  in  her 
hands.  He  hoped  to  be  forgiven,  and  accepted 
as  the  witness  of  her  dedicated  life.  But  he  did 
not  expect  it,  or  make  a  claim. 

He  reached  Curzon  Street  at  ten  o'clock,  and 
found  his  mother  returned  from  dining  out.  Mrs. 
Paragon  now  had  her  own  friends.  She  quietly 
came  and  went,  usually  not  asking  how  Peter  fared. 
All  his  time  was  taken  up  with  Lady  Mary,  and 
with  Lady  Mary  she  left  the  issue  in  perfect  trust. 
But  to-night  she  was  startled  from  her  assurance. 
Peter,  unaware  that  he  betrayed  himself,  had  the 
face  of  a  soul  newly  admitted  to  damnation. 

"What  has  happened  to  you,  Peter?"  she 
asked. 

"  Nothing,  mother." 

She  came  to  him  where  he  had  flung  himself 
into  a  chair  beside  the  fire. 

"  Has  Lady  Mary  sent  you  away?  " 

Peter  stared  at  her  in  amazement.  He  had 
never  talked  of  Lady  Mary.  But  he  always  ac- 
cepted his  mother's  mysterious  knowledge. 

"  She  is  soon  to  be  married,  mother." 


272  PETER  PARAGON 

"Lord  Wenderby?" 

This  was  more  than  Peter  could  accept. 

"  You  know  that  also?  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  I  saw  Lord  Wenderby  one  day  in  these 
rooms,"  said  his  mother  quietly.  "  I  knew  he  was 
in  love  with  Lady  Mary." 

Peter  looked  keenly  at  his  mother. 

"  You  are  sure  he  loves  her?  "  he  asked. 

"  Quite." 

u  I  should  be  happy  to  believe  that.  It  gives 
him  a  better  claim." 

"Better  than  your  own?"  said  his  mother. 
She  was  at  last  surprised. 

"  I  have  no  claim  at  all.  I  do  not  love  Lady 
Mary." 

He  was  quaintly  wretched.  His  mother  almost 
smiled.  She  saw  a  light  in  the  cloud,  but  it  puz- 
zled her.  Would  he  then  have  preferred  to  love 
Lady  Mary  and  to  lose  her? 

"  Tell  me  what  has  happened,"  she  said.  "  I 
don't  understand.  You  do  not  love  Lady  Mary 
—  is  that  your  trouble  ?  " 

"  She  told  me  of  Lord  Wenderby,"  Peter  obedi- 
ently answered,  "  and  I  was  mad  at  the  idea  of 
losing  her.  I  grasped  at  her.  I  was  like  a  wild 
beast." 

"  But  you  do  not  love  her,"  Mrs.  Paragon  per- 
sisted. 

"  It  was  not  love  made  me  behave  like  that.  It 
was  brutal.  I  had  no  true  passion  at  all.  I  dis- 
gusted her." 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  273 

Mrs.  Paragon  suddenly  rose. 

:' What  has  Lady  Mary  said?  How  did  she 
part  from  you?  " 

Peter  looked  at  her  in  wonder.  What  was  his 
mother  going  to  do  now? 

"  She  said  she  would  write,"  he  answered. 
"  Her  eyes  were  closed." 

Mrs.  Paragon  saw  that  this  was  not  Peter's 
tragedy.  She  could  leave  him  to  his  remorse. 

"  Give  me  my  cloak,  Peter." 

;<  Where  are  you  going?  " 

Mrs.  Paragon  ignored  his  question. 
'  What  is  Lady  Mary  doing  now?  "  she  asked. 

"  She  promised  to  wait  for  Antony.  The  divi- 
sion to-night  is  at  eleven  o'clock." 

Mrs.  Paragon  looked  at  the  clock. 

"  It  is  now  half-past  ten.  Call  me  a  cab, 
Peter." 

"  You  are  going  to  her?  " 

"  Of  course." 

On  the  way  to  Arlington  Street  Mrs.  Paragon 
saw  the  radiant  figure  af  the  woman,  to  whom  she 
had  trusted  Peter,  in  dreadful  eclipse.  She  passed 
without  a  word  Lady  Mary's  protesting  servant, 
and  went  directly  to  her  room.  Lady  Mary  still 
lay  with  closed  eyes  where  she  had  been  struck 
down.  Mrs.  Paragon  moved  quietly  towards  her, 
and  gathered  her  like  a  child.  She  opened  her 
eyes,  accepting  Peter's  mother  with  a  clasp  of  the 
hand. 

"  You  have  seen  Peter?  "  she  quietly  asked. 


274  PETER  PARAGON 

"  He  has  just  come  home.  He  says  he  has  for 
ever  offended  you." 

Lady  Mary  smiled. 

"  I  will  send  him  a  word  to-night,"  she  said. 
"  I  have  just  been  trying  to  understand.  I  think 
I  shall  soon  be  happy.  I  know  now  that  Peter 
does  not  love  me.  That  makes  it  so  much  easier." 

"  He  worships  you,"  Mrs.  Paragon  insisted. 

"  Can  that  be  restored?  " 

"  More  than  ever  now.  I  am  sure  he  would 
want  me  to  tell  you  that." 

Lady  Mary  raised  herself  from  Mrs.  Paragon's 
shoulder  and  looked  at  her. 

"  I  cannot  yet  measure  this  breach  in  Peter. 
He  has  loved  me  from  the  moment  we  came  to- 
gether at  Highbury.  But  to-night  I  was  humbled. 
There  was  no  love  at  all.  I  cannot  now  believe 
that  Peter  will  ever  truly  love.  There  is  a  rift." 

"  You  are  wrong,"  said  Peter's  mother. 

Mrs.  Paragon  told  Lady  Mary  how  lately  she 
had  watched  beside  him  as  he  wandered  in  an 
empty  house.  Lady  Mary  heard  the  story  of 
Miranda. 

"  I  think  he  is  wandering  still,"  concluded 
Peter's  mother. 

"  You  should  have  found  this  girl,"  said  Lady 
Mary. 

Mrs.  Paragon  paused  a  moment. 

"  I  have  tried,"  she  said  at  last. 

"Can't  she  be  traced?" 

"  You  remember  the  great  liner  that  went  down 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  275 

four  years  ago  ?  She  was  not  on  the  list  of  people 
saved." 

"  When  did  you  discover  this?  " 

"  I  inquired  shortly  after  Peter's  illness." 

Lady  Mary  thought  a  little. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  better  so,"  she  said  after  a  pause. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that?  " 

"  Peter  has  surely  grown  away  from  these  peo- 
ple. He  would  not  have  found  his  dream." 

A  shutting  door  warned  Lady  Mary  that  her 
brother  had  returned.  She  rose  from  the  settee, 
and  went  to  the  writing  table.  When  she  had 
finished  her  few  lines,  she  gave  them  to  Mrs.  Para- 
gon, who,  asking  Lady  Mary  with  a  look,  was  in- 
vited to  read  them: 

"  PETER, —  I  beg  you  not  to  distress  yourself.  I 
am  determined  to  forget  what  happened  this  even- 
ing, and  I  rely  on  you  not  to  brood  on  things  which 
are  finished.  You  know  now  that  I  am  more  than 
ever  right  to  become  the  wife  of  Lord  Wenderby. 
I  want  you  to  meet  me  without  awkwardness  or 
self-reproach.  There  is  no  need  for  one  or  the 
other.  Nothing  has  changed. 

"  I  am  sending  this  by  your  dear  mother. 

"  MARY." 

Mrs.  Paragon  handed  back  the  sheet. 

"  You  are  kind,"  she  said. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  resent." 

She  sealed  the  letter,  and  addressed  it.     "  When 


276  PETER  PARAGON 

Peter  has  got  over  his  remorse,  you  will  bring  him 
back,'5  she  suggested. 

"  His  remorse  is  too  keen  to  last,"  Mrs.  Para- 
gon said  quite  simply.  She  did  not  intend  to  be 
critical. 

Lady  Mary  kissed  Mrs.  Paragon  tenderly. 

"  It  was  beautiful  of  you  to  come,"  she  whis- 
pered. 

Peter  was  waiting  for  his  mother,  and  met  her 
anxiously  at  the  door.  Lady  Mary's  letter  acted 
as  she  intended.  It  was  a  dash  of  water  upon  the 
fires  of  his  despair.  Reading  her  collected  sen- 
tences, he  could  hardly  believe  he  had  seen  love 
and  pain  unutterable  in  her  eyes.  She  was,  in  her 
letter,  restored  to  serenity  as  one  to  be  remotely 
worshipped.  An  added  majesty  had  crowned  her. 
She  was  dedicated  to  a  great  historic  part.  Al- 
ready as  Mrs.  Paragon  returned,  the  news  was 
spread  from  waiting  presses  that  the  Government 
had  fallen.  They  screamed  it  in  the  street  below. 
Now  that  his  personal  passion  was  out  of  the  way, 
Peter  began  to  see  these  issues  in  a  large  and  na- 
tional perspective.  He  remembered  Haversham's 
vibrant  wish  that  he  might  have  had  some  share 
in  this  event  —  the  event  of  which  Lady  Mary 
was  motive  and  queen. 

Peter's  recovery  was  rapid.  Alternately  the 
week  through  he  wavered  between  the  remorse 
of  one  who  had  erred  unspeakably  and  the  exulta- 
tion of  one  still  privileged  to  witness  the  flight 
of  an  angel.  Then,  one  bright  morning,  he  dis- 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  277 

covered  that  these  extremes  had  vanished  in  a 
quiet  sense,  that  a  chapter  of  his  life  had  closed. 
Rapture  was  going  out  of  his  late  adventure,  mak- 
ing way  for  a  steady  sense  that  Lady  Mary  was 
very  admirable  and  an  excellent  friend. 

After  a  few  days  spent  mostly  with  his  mother, 
he  was  enough  in  tune  with  Lady  Mary's  letter 
to  visit  her  in  Arlington  Street.  Wenderby  was 
waiting  for  her,  and,  before  she  came  down  to 
them,  they  were  a  few  moments  together.  Peter 
was  surprised  at  the  cordiality  of  his  feelings  for 
the  man  he  had  so  long  distrusted.  Wenderby  had 
an  instinct  for  meeting  people  in  their  own  way. 
He  at  once  saw  the  change  in  Peter. 

"I  think  you  know  of  my  engagement?"  he 
said  abruptly. 

"  Has  Lady  Mary  told  you  everything?  "  Peter 
asked. 

"  Not  everything,"  Wenderby  answered  with  a 
faint  smile.  "  I  have  inferred  the  greater  part." 

"  You  will  be  very  proud  of  her,"  said  Peter 
impulsively. 

"  You  believe  that  I  understand  my  good  for- 
tune?" 

Lady  Mary  came  in  as  they  spoke.  Peter  was 
astonished  at  the  ease  with  which  they  talked  to- 
gether of  small  things.  He  tranquilly  withdrew 
at  the  end  of  a  few  moments.  Lady  Mary  was 
frank  and  free.  She  seemed  entirely  at  peace. 
There  had  not  been  a  sign  of  effort  in  her  friendly 
greeting. 


XXXVII 

IN  the  following  months  Peter  realised  to  what 
extent  his  late  devotion  to  Lady  Mary  had  filled 
him.  Now  that  she  was  only  one  of  his  best 
friends,  he  was  at  first  vacant  of  enthusiasm. 
Then  he  began  to  discover  all  kinds  of  neglected 
ties  with  people  whom  before  he  had  hardly  no- 
ticed. Ostensibly  Lady  Mary  was  still  supreme, 
but,  curiously  as  it  seemed  to  Peter,  though  her 
sacrifice  and  the  wonder  of  her  great  career  set 
her  higher  in  his  admiration,  it  had  made  this  ad- 
miration less  tremulously  personal.  The  ecstasy 
had  gone  out  of  it.  It  no  longer  shut  out  the  un- 
distinguished world.  He  discovered  now  that  he 
had  other  friends;  that  he  was  liked  by  some  of 
them ;  that  their  liking  was  gratifying  and  merited 
some  small  return. 

Since  Haversham  had  been  claimed  by  his  pub- 
lic and  hereditary  life,  Peter  had  become  attached 
to  a  frequent  visitor  at  Arlington  Street. 

James  Atterbury  was  a  young  and  successful 
caricaturist  who  had  also  written  and  produced 
several  plays.  His  activities  were  financially  un- 
necessary, so  that  in  a  sense  he  was  an  amateur. 
He  was  socially  popular,  and  Peter  met  him  every- 
where. Gradually  he  had  taken  Haversham's 
place.  Like  Haversham,  he  was  tolerant  and  ur- 

278 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  279 

bane.  He  had  long  abandoned  those  visions 
which  now  were  driving  Peter  restlessly  from  day 
to  day.  He  was  a  cheerful  man  of  pleasure,  liv- 
ing for  all  that  was  agreeable  and  could  be  de- 
cently enjoyed.  He  had  watched,  with  respectful 
irony,  Peter's  absorbed  devotion  to  Lady  Mary, 
and  had  keenly  speculated  as  to  how  it  would  end. 
When  the  end  came,  Haversham  plainly  hinted 
that  Atterbury  would  do  well  to  help  Peter  recover 
an  early  interest  in  people  and  things. 

"  Certainly,"  Atterbury  had  said.  "  I'm  re- 
hearsing a  new  play  at  the  Vaudeville.  Peter 
shall  attend." 

"  Is  that  adequate,  do  you  think?  " 

"  Yes,  Tony.  Rehearsing  a  play  is  the  most 
distracting  thing  in  the  world." 

So  Peter,  plunged  into  a  new  atmosphere,  sat 
for  hours  upon  the  small  stage  at  the  Vaudeville 
watching,  with  growing  interest  and  amusement, 
the  pulling  together  of  a  mixed  company. 

"  It's  like  a  children's  party,"  Atterbury  told 
him.  "  At  present  we  are  a  little  shy,  but  soon  it 
will  be  a  bear-garden.  They  will  forget  that  I 
am  the  author,  to  be  loved  and  respected.  By  the 
time  we  are  ready  for  the  public,  I  shan't  be  on 
speaking  terms  with  anybody." 

"  Except  Vivette,"  suggested  Peter,  looking  to- 
wards Atterbury's  principal  lady. 

"You've  noticed  Vivette?" 

"  I've  noticed  you  always  give  way  to  her." 

"  Not  always." 


28o  PETER  PARAGON 

"  Usually,  then." 

"  Usually  she  is  right.  She  is  really  improving 
my  play." 

Peter  looked  with  greater  interest  at  the  viva- 
cious young  woman  now  holding  the  stage.  She 
was  full  of  vitality,  which  somehow  she  shared 
with  all  who  acted  with  her.  As  soon  as  she  left 
the  stage,  life  went  out  of  the  performance. 

"  What  is  her  name?  "  Peter  asked. 

"  Formally  you  may  call  her  Mademoiselle 
Claire." 

"French?" 

"  Every  country  in  the  world." 

At  this  point  the  rehearsal  again  became  ani- 
mated. Atterbury  was  soon  fighting  to  be  heard. 
The  dispute  was  at  last  arranged,  and  he  returned 
to  Peter. 

"  Vivette  has  been  looking  at  you,  Peter,"  he 
said  as  the  play  began  to  go  smoothly  again. 

"  How  do  you  know?  " 

"  Because  she  has  told  me." 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"  She  asked  for  the  name  of  my  solemn  friend." 

"  Anybody  looks  solemn  beside  you,"  Peter 
grumbled. 

He  resentfully  examined  his  companion.  Atter- 
bury was  roseate  and  sanguine;  but  he  looked  at 
Peter  as  gravely  as  he  could. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  hankering  after  the  ad- 
miration of  Vivette,"  he  said.  "  She  isn't  safe." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  asked  Peter. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  281 

"  She  looks  upon  everything  nice  in  life  as  a 
sort  of  sugar-plum.  If  she  likes  you,  Peter,  she 
will  eat  you." 

4  You  mean  she  is  a  wicked  woman?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  twinkled  Atterbury.  "  I  mean 
she  is  a  small  child  who  happens  to  be  greedy. 
She  would  think  no  more  harm  of  making  a  hearty 
meal  of  your  ingenuous  self  than  I  should  of 
swallowing  an  oyster." 

Vivette  slipped  from  the  imaginary  door  of  a 
room  that  did  not  exist  —  they  were  rehearsing 
without  scenery  —  and  came  to  them  before  they 


were  aware. 
u 


You  have  shocked  your  friend,"  she  said  to 
Atterbury,  looking  at  Peter.  Peter  angrily  com- 
posed his  protesting  face,  as  Atterbury  presented 
him. 

"  Peter  Paragon  is  easily  shocked,"  Atterbury 
said.  "  I  hope  you  did  not  hear  what  we  were 

Stalking  about  ?  " 
11  No." 

"  It  was  harmless,"  Atterbury  assured  her. 

"  Do  tell  me,"  she  pleaded.  "  I  don't  often 
hear  anything  harmless." 

"  Impossible." 

"Wasn't  it  to  do  with  oysters?  Let's  go  to 
lunch.  We  shan't  make  any  way  this  morning." 

They  lunched  together.  It  was  an  agreeable 
triangle;  but  Atterbury,  with  amusement,  saw 
he  would  soon  be  unnecessary.  Peter,  in  reaction 
from  the  emotional  strain  of  his  last  adventure, 


282  PETER  PARAGON 

found  in  Vivette  a  pleasant  holiday.  Peter  con- 
sented with  Vivette  to  relieve  the  dignity  and  stress 
of  life  upon  the  heroic  plane.  He  came  to  delight 
in  the  quick  gleam  of  her  eyes. 

The  eyes  of  Vivette  were  brown,  easily  lighting, 
but  shallow.  They  flickered  into  fun,  and  went 
suddenly  out.  They  could  never  be  passionate 
or  deep,  but  they  talked  with  him,  and  drew  him 
to  admire  the  play  of  her  lips,  slightly  full,  the  life 
and  light  of  her  face ;  the  sudden  tale  of  her  blood 
which  came  and  went  at  a  word  or  gesture. 

She  did  everything  with  an  equal  enthusiasm. 
She  had  the  mimic  soul  to  catch  at  every  mood. 
She  was  born  a  player.  Life  was  a  quick  succes- 
sion of  happy  parts.  She  stepped  from  her  role 
on  the  stage  into  the  role  she  happened  to  be  play- 
ing in  the  world. 

Soon  she  was  playing  the  happy  comrade  of 
Peter.  He  soon  attended  rehearsals  regularly 
without  prompting  from  Atterbury,  and  Atterbury 
usually  made  excuses  to  send  them  away  to  a 
friendly  lunch.  Atterbury  was  unable  to  resist  the 
comedy  of  seeing  them  together.  They  inspired 
the  most  famously  cruel  of  his  social  caricatures. 
Peter  looked  forlornly  innocent  beside  her.  Cy- 
therea's  Pilgrim,  Atterbury  named  him.  His  sim- 
plicity and  perpetual  fervour  aggravated  the  light- 
ness of  Vivette.  In  Atterbury's  penetrating  eye, 
each  made  a  caricature  of  the  other.  It  was  a 
sense  of  this  which  threw  them  more  and  more 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  283 

closely  together.  Each  was  determined  to  touch 
the  other  and  to  make  a  proselyte.  Peter  wanted 
to  be  taken  seriously  by  Vivette.  Vivette  wanted 
to  see  Peter  come  down  from  his  golden  throne. 

Peter  watched  the  first  performance  of  the  play 
from  a  box  with  his  mother.  Later  he  attended, 
without  his  mother,  a  supper  party  in  the  rooms 
of  Vivette  —  a  rambling  flat  among  the  chimney- 
pots of  Soho.  She  was  bright  with  laughter  and 
success,  and  Peter  frowned  to  observe  how  easily 
she  caught  the  mood  of  her  company.  He  felt 
he  would  like  to  say  or  do  something  to  bring 
depth  into  her  eyes. 

Peter  and  Atterbury  were  the  last  to  leave,  and 
they  sat  for  a  while  to  enjoy  a  friendly  conversa- 
tion. Vivette  curled  herself  up. 

"  This  is  heavenly,"  she  purred.  "  I  simply 
love  peace  and  quietness." 

"  I've  noticed  it,"  said  Peter  bitterly,  surveying 
a  litter  of  empty  champagne  bottles  on  the  table 
behind  them. 

"  Don't,  Peter.  You  are  spoiling  the  beautiful 
silence.  Besides,  your  views  are  all  wrong.  The 
only  people  who  really  understand  peace  and  quiet- 
ness are  people  who  also  like  a  jolly  good  racket. 
We  get  it  both  ways." 

"  You  always  do,"  said  Atterbury.  "  Life  is 
the  art  of  getting  it  both  ways  —  eh,  Vivette?  " 

"  Not  worth  living,"  grunted  Peter. 

**  That's  your  ignorance,  Peter,"  said  Vivette. 


•284  PETER  PARAGON 

Her  eyes  suggested  a  wicked  godmother.  "  I 
don't  know  what's  going  to  become  of  Peter,"  she 
added  confidentially  to  Atterbury. 

"  You  are  really  anxious?  " 

"  Naturally.  Peter's  a  temptation  to  all  of  us. 
He  is  so  aggressively  pure." 

"  You,  at  any  rate,  are  safe,"  Atterbury  auda- 
ciously hoped. 

"  For  the  time  being,"  Vivette  reassured  him, 
"  if  Peter  will  only  smile  now  and  then.  But  he 
mustn't  go  on  wearing  his  beautiful  character  like 
a  medal." 

Peter  had  bounded  to  the  far  end  of  the  sofa. 
Now  he  rose,  offering  to  go. 

4  You  want  to  discuss  me,"  he  said. 

**  It  doesn't  matter,  thank  you;  but  if  you  really 
must — "  Vivette  held  out  her  hand  politely. 
Peter  smacked  it  suddenly.  Then  he  sat  down 
again. 

"  What  a  wicked  child,"  said  Vivette,  turning 
again  to  Atterbury.  "  Did  you  ever  see  such  a 
temper?  It's  a  curious  thing  about  me,"  she 
added,  discussing  an  interesting  problem  in  charac- 
ter, "  every  man  I  have  anything  to  do  with  sooner 
or  later  wants  to  hit  me." 

"  Men  like  to  be  taken  seriously." 

"  You  never  want  to  be  taken  seriously,  do  you, 
Jimmy?  " 

"  I  am  not  a  typical  man,"  retorted  Atterbury. 

"  My  men  are  never  typical,"  said  Vivette.  "  I 
hate  typical  men.  I'm  sure  Peter  isn't  typical." 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  285 

"  He'll  get  there  some  day,"  Atterbury  assured 
her. 

"  Not  as  far  as  that,"  she  quickly  hoped. 

For  the  first  time  Peter  detected  a  note  of  sin- 
cerity in  her.  He  turned  and  found  her  jealously 
perusing  him.  He  faintly  coloured,  and  this  time 
he  really  went. 

After  he  had  left  them,  Vivette  and  Atterbury 
looked  intelligently  at  one  another. 

"  I  really  mean  it,"  she  said  at  last.  "  I 
shouldn't  like  Peter  to  be  a  typical  man." 

"  It  will  depend  on  his  luck." 

"  You  mean  he  must  fall  into  the  right  hands?  " 

"  When  he  does  fall." 

He  looked  at  her  keenly,  and  she  coloured  under 
his  inspection. 

"  He  mustn't  fall  into  the  hands  of  a  nasty 
woman,"  she  said. 

"  You  would  rather  take  him  yourself?  "  Atter- 
bury thoughtfully  suggested. 

"  Sometimes,  Jimmy,  you  are  too  familiar." 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  Atterbury,  beginning  to  look 
for  his  hat.  "  Let  me  thank  you  again  for  your 
beautiful  acting.  You  saved  my  play  to-night." 


XXXVIII 

IN  the  coming  months  Peter  met  many  of  the 
friends  of  Vivette.  He  at  once  became  enthusias- 
tic, and  insisted  to  Atterbury  that  they  were  much 
maligned  by  superior  people.  Atterbury  agreed. 

"  They're  the  best-hearted  people  in  the  world," 
he  said  — "  quite  perfect  if  you  don't  have  to  do 
business  with  them." 

"  So  genuine,"  Peter  exclaimed. 

"  Very  genuine,"  Atterbury  echoed.  '  They 
always  mean  what  they  say.  Of  course  they 
never  mean  the  same  thing  for  two  days.  But 
that  only  makes  them  more  interesting." 

He  looked,  as  he  said  this,  hard  at  Peter,  and 
Peter  flushed,  knowing  how  justly  he  himself 
might  be  classed  with  enthusiastic  people  who 
change  and  range  with  the  time.  Why  had  he 
suddenly  lost  interest  in  the  friends  of  Haversham 
and  Lady  Mary?  He  simply  did  not  want  to  go 
on  with  them.  He  was  caught  up  in  this  other 
set,  and  at  heart  he  knew  that  his  pleasure  in 
these  strangers  was  a  dereliction.  Their  charm 
was  superficial,  their  posturing  was  frequently 
half-bred.  He  realised  that  he  was  declining, 
through  weariness,  to  a  less  excellent  carriage  of 
himself.  He  was  unhappy  and  restless  —  tired 
enough  to  take  and  enjoy  the  second  best. 

Atterbury' s  play  lived  through  the  summer  and 
286 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  287 

the  autumn  season.  It  outlived  many  great  events 
—  among  them  a  general  election  which  put  in  the 
Tories,  and  the  marriage  of  Lady  Mary  with  Lord 
Wenderby,  then  First  Lord  of  the  Admiralty. 

As  Peter  stood  in  St.  Margaret's  watching  the 
ceremony  he  could  hardly  believe  that  he  had  ever 
had  a  part  in  this  great  affair.  It  seemed  that 
lately  he  had  gradually  come  down  to  a  pleasant 
valley.  It  was  incredible  that  he  had  ever 
breathed  high  air  with  the  radiant  woman  who  now 
was  the  wife  of  the  most  powerful  man  in  England. 

Lady  Mary's  marriage  made  Peter  think.  Al- 
ready Vivette  was  an  obsession,  serious  enough  to 
be  noticed  by  his  friends,  and  to  interfere  with  his 
work.  Peter  began  to  be  frightened,  and  secretly 
ashamed.  His  last  years  seemed  all  to  be  bound 
up  with  women.  Was  he  never  to  be  free  of  his 
foolish  sensibility?  Was  he  to  fall  helplessly 
from  figure  to  figure  as  opportunity  called  him? 
There  was  work  to  do,  but  his  fancy  was  perpetu- 
ally caught  and  held  in  one  monotonous  lure. 

Lady  Mary  had  shown  him  there  were  other 
ends  to  follow  than  a  personal  and  perfect  mating. 
He  was  beginning  to  feel  haunted.  There  was  a 
murk  in  his  brain  —  into  which  thoughts  some- 
times intruded  which  he  found,  in  clear  moments, 
to  be  shabby.  They  prompted  him  intimately 
towards  Vivette.  Perhaps  it  would  give  him 
peace  if  once  for  all  he  pricked  the  bubble  of  his 
expectation.  Why  should  he  not  test  this  vision; 
pierce  rudely  in,  and  pass  on?  Sex  was  not  all, 


288  PETER  PARAGON 

and  if  here  he  fell  short  of  perfection,  it  was  no 
great  matter.  He  could  leave  that  dream  behind, 
no  longer  urged  about  it  in  a  weary  circle. 

He  felt  at  first  that  this  impulse  towards  weak 
submission  was  treason  to  a  secret  part  of  himself 
that  seemed  to  be  waiting,  seemed  also  to  know 
that  perfection  would  come  and  must  find  him 
virginal.  But  this  feeling  was  less  strong  with 
the  passing  time.  He  came  more  and  more  to 
cherish  the  idea  of  Vivette.  Her  changing  eyes 
became  his  only  mirror  wherein  to  look  for  an 
answer  to  his  question,  and  when  he  did  not  find 
the  answer  he  began  stormily  to  wonder  whether 
their  cryptic  shallows  might  not  surrender  the 
secret  he  desired  if  adventurously  he  dived  deep 
enough. 

This  mood  always  found  and  left  him  deeply 
out  of  heart.  It  was  part  of  a  general  feeling 
that  he  was  gradually  breaking  down.  Some- 
times, in  defence,  it  flung  him  to  an  extreme  of 
carefully  induced  exaltation.  When  temptation 
whispered  that  Vivette  was  a  pleasant  creature, 
and  would  allow  his  love,  he  insisted,  to  justify 
his  impulse  to  take  her,  that  surely  she  must  per- 
fectly be  his  mate.  His  unconquerable  idealism, 
weakened  and  gradually  beaten  down,  required 
that  he  should  thus  deceive  himself. 

Through  the  winter  —  Atterbury's  play  still  lin- 
gered —  they  frequently  spent  Sunday  evening  to- 
gether in  her  Soho  flat.  Vivette  alternated  be- 
tween fits  of  extreme  physical  energy  —  when  she 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  289 

took  exercise  in  every  discovered  way  —  and  com- 
plete inertia.  Midwinter  found  her  at  the  close 
of  her  hibernating — "lying  fallow  for  the 
spring,"  she  described  it.  She  passed  her  Sundays 
curled  up  in  a  deep  settee  by  the  fire.  Peter  spent 
long,  drowsy  afternoons  and  evenings  reading  with 
her,  dropping  occasional  words,  eating  light  food 
prepared  by  a  cook  who  understood  that  her  mis- 
tress must  on  no  account  be  served  with  anything 
which  required  her  to  sit  upright.  Peter,  who 
earlier  in  the  year  had  ridden,  rowed,  and  played 
tennis  with  Vivette,  did  not  in  the  least  like  her 
present  habits. 

Upon  a  Sunday  evening  in  February  he  dis- 
contentedly began  to  wait  on  her  at  supper. 

"  Dormouse,"  he  called  from  the  table,  "  what 
are  you  going  to  drink?  " 

To  his  surprise  Vivette  suddenly  sat  up : 

"  Champagne  to-night.  I'm  going  to  be  full  of 
beans.  I  shall  do  Swedish  drill  in  the  morning." 

"  Not  a  day  too  soon,"  grumbled  Peter.  "  I 
wonder  you  can  stand  it,  eating  butter  and  cream 
all  day  and  lying  on  your  back.  You  must  have 
the  liver  of  a  horse." 

"  You  are  right,"  she  retorted.  "  People  pre- 
tend to  despise  me  for  being  lazy.  It's  envy, 
Peter.  Everybody  would  be  lazy  in  the  winter  if 
their  health  would  stand  it." 

She  pushed  away  a  plate  of  delicate  souffle. 

"  Not  to-night,  Peter.  I'm  going  to  eat  some 
meat." 


29o  PETER  PARAGON 

"  I  often  wonder  about  you,"  said  Peter. 

"Really?" 

"  Do  you  do  nothing  with  your  whole  heart,  or 
everything?  " 

"  Everything,"  said  Vivette,  with  her  mouth 
full. 

"  I  don't  believe  anything  really  touches  you." 

Peter  was  trying  to  be  serious. 

"  You  are  forgetting  the  champagne,"  she  in- 
terrupted. 

Peter  went  to  the  cupboard,  brought  out  a  bottle 
and  exploded  it. 

"  Thank  you,  Peter.  There's  nothing  in  the 
world  like  the  pop  of  a  champagne  cork.  It 
makes  me  think." 

"  Think?  "  said  Peter,  with  his  nose  in  the  air. 

"  Yes,"  she  insisted.  "  It  makes  me  think  how 
nothing  matters  at  all,  or  how  everything  matters 
tremendously.  I  don't  know  which." 

"  I  hate  champagne,"  said  Peter  viciously. 

"  Of  course." 

"Why 'of  course'?" 

"  There's  something  which  doesn't  fit  in  your 
popping  a  champagne  cork.  It's  like  laughing  in 
church." 

"  Champagne  is  vulgar.  It's  only  good  for  a 
bean-feast." 

"You're  going  to  have  some,  I  suppose?" 
She  looked  at  him  in  a  way  that  spoke  between  the 
lines  of  her  question. 

Peter  hated  the  challenge  of  her  light  inquiry. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  291 

He  wanted  to  deepen  it.  In  many  small  ways 
Vivette  had  held  herself  out  to  Peter,  but  she  did 
not  seem  to  care  what  he  would  do. 

He  poured  himself  some  wine  and  drank  to 
her. 

"  This  is  excellent  champagne,"  he  said  brightly. 
Then  he  drooped.  "  It  isn't  my  stuff,"  he  added. 

"  I  love  it.     Pop  —  and  it's  all  over." 

"  It  goes  flat  in  the  glass." 

"  Just  for  a  moment  it's  perfect." 

"  The  present,  I  suppose,  is  all  that  matters?  " 
said  Peter,  heavily  censorious. 

;' Why  not?"  she  slanted  her  amusement  at 
Peter,  and  delicately  crushed  the  bubbles  of  her 
wine. 

"  Have  you  ever  taken  anything  seriously  in 
your  life  ?  "  asked  Peter. 

"  I  have  never  inquired." 

Her  eyes  flickered.  Their  wavering  light  ex- 
asperated his  desire  to  move  her  deeply,  to  hold 
for  a  moment  her  nimble  spirit  that  ran  at  a  touch 
like  quicksilver.  She  felt  his  rising  passion,  and 
her  mimic  soul  responded  under  the  surface  of  her 
laughter.  She  did  not  stir  when  Peter  came  near 
and  took  her  by  the  shoulders.  Her  eyes  were 
still  the  familiar  changing  shallows.  They  raised 
in  Peter  an  ambition  to  see  them  deepen  and  burn. 

"  I  would  like  to  see  you  really  meaning  some- 
thing," he  said,  tightening  his  grip  upon  her. 
"  You  are  only  a  reflection.  I  want  to  see  your 
own  light  shining." 


292  PETER  PARAGON 

"  Is  this  a  poem,  Peter?  Or  are  you  trying  to 
save  my  soul?  " 

Would  she  never  be  serious  ?  Peter  was  angry 
and  miserable.  His  late  brooding  came  to  a  point. 
He  wanted  to  touch  Vivette,  and  he  wanted  an 
excuse.  He  could  not  play  her  light  game  of 
pleasure  without  insisting  that  it  was  something 
more. 

Vivette  saw  the  pain  in  his  eyes.  More  gravely 
than  she  had  yet  spoken  she  said  to  him : 

"  I  might  be  very  real,  if  only  you  believed  it." 

He  bent  eagerly  towards  her : 

"  I  am  going  to  kiss  you,  Vivette." 

Her  eyes  did  not  change.  They  were  evasive 
still.  Peter  held  her  small  face  between  his 
palms  —  the  face  of  a  happy  child,  with  pleasure 
visibly  in  store.  He  had  agreeably  stirred  her 
light  senses.  He  turned  abruptly  away. 

"  There  is  no  feeling  in  you,"  he  said. 

"  Do  you  expect  me  to  faint  away?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  care." 

"  Perhaps  I  do." 
'You  really  care?" 

"  I  care  in  my  own  way." 

They  sat  together  by  the  fire,  and  Peter  held  her 
lightly  beside  him.  This  was  no  conquest,  or 
rapture  of  intimacy.  He  could  not  believe  that 
he  had  really  moved  her.  The  more  he  grew 
alive  to  her  physical  presence  and  the  implication 
of  her  surrender,  the  more  he  desired  a  guarantee 
that  their  love  should  be  permanent  and  true.  He 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  293 

wanted  an  assurance  that  this  adventure  was  not 
ignoble.  He  wanted  again  to  be  justified. 

He  grew  every  instant  more  sensible  of  their 
intimacy.  He  tried  to  persuade  himself  that  this 
was  the  real  and  perfect  thing;  that  the  stir  of 
his  senses,  under  which  he  weakly  drooped,  was 
the  call  of  two  passionate  hearts.  He  wavered 
absurdly.  Once  he  suffered  an  impulse  to  take 
Vivette  brutally,  without  disguise,  as  an  offered 
pastime.  Then  he  shrank  from  so  immediate  a 
declension  from  his  vanishing  idealism,  and  in- 
wardly clamoured  that  he  loved  her.  There  he 
ultimately  fixed  his  mind.  He  looked  at  Vivette 
and  found  in  her  an  increasing  gravity.  She  was 
becoming  aware  of  Peter's  trouble.  She  was 
beginning  to  understand  it,  and  to  be  seriously 
concerned.  But  Peter  mistook  her  dawning  com- 
passion. He  caught  eagerly  at  the  sober  spirit 
which  now  possessed  her.  He  suddenly  heard 
himself  propose  to  her. 

"  Will  you  marry  me,  Vivette?  " 

He  saw  the  laughter  leap  into  her  eyes;  but, 
even  as  he  shrank,  it  passed,  and  they  lit  with 
affectionate  pity. 

"  Peter,"  she  said  very  gently,  "  do  you  know 
what  you  are  talking  about?  " 

"  I  have  asked  you  to  marry  me." 

"  Of  course  not." 

"  You  do  not  care  enough?  "  he  suggested. 

"  I  care  enough  to-night.  But  there  is  next 
year  and  the  year  after  that." 


294  PETER  PARAGON 

"  I  want  to  be  sure  that  this  is  serious,"  said 
Peter,  with  clenched  hands. 

"  Of  course  it  is.  It  is  more  serious  than  I 
thought  anything  could  be." 

Clearly  she  was  now  in  earnest.  Even  Peter 
might  have  found  her  adequate.  But  he  had  now 
committed  himself  deeply  to  the  proof  he  required. 
He  knew  it  was  at  bottom  indefensible  —  that  he 
was  merely  trying  to  build  a  refuge  for  his  self- 
respect. 

"  If  you  really  cared  for  me,"  he  persisted,  "  you 
would  not  refuse  to  marry  me." 

"  Marriage  is  not  my  way,"  she  protested. 

"  I  ask  you  with  my  whole  soul." 

"Your  whole  soul?"  She  smiled  a  little,  but 
added  gravely : 

"  You  make  things  very  difficult.  This  shows 
how  badly  you  want  to  be  looked  after." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Don't  you  see  how  easily  I  might  play  up  to 
you?  Do  you  think  it  would  be  very  difficult 
for  an  actress  like  me  to  love  you  '  with  my  whole 
soul '  and  win  you  altogether  on  my  own  terms?  " 

"  You  mean,"  Peter  flashed  at  her,  "  that  you 
might  easily  pretend." 

"  It  would  not  be  difficult,"  she  said,  a  little 
sadly. 

Vivette  was  feeling  unlike  herself.  She  was 
now  unselfishly  solicitous  for  Peter.  She  saw 
how  helpless  he  was,  restless  and  curious  of  life, 
ever  more  firmly  held  by  one  idea.  She  pictured 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  295 

him  falling  to  some  woman,  hot  and  unscrupulous, 
who  would  coarsely  tear  the  veil  he  fastidiously 
desired  to  lift,  and  for  ever  destroy  for  him  the 
nobility  of  passion. 

But  Peter  cut  into  her  thoughts. 

"Are  you  changing  your  mind?"  he  asked 
abruptly. 

"  No,  Peter.     I  am  only  thinking." 

;<  Then  it  is  good-bye." 

He  moved  towards  the  door.  Vivette  saw  him 
passing  out  of  her  keeping.  She  saw  him  stum- 
bling forward  to  disillusion  and  possible  disgust. 
She  could  not  let  him  go  like  that.  She  was 
zealous  that  his  adventure  should  not  end  wholly 
in  disaster. 

Out  of  sudden  pity  she  called  to  him. 

"Peter!" 

He  paused  at  the  door  but  did  not  turn. 

She  collected  her  courage.  Surely  it  would  be 
better  for  Peter,  then  and  there,  to  end.  Her 
spirit  was  alive  to  him.  It  would  be  an  episode, 
but  it  would  not  be  sordid.  She  saw  a  hundred 
ways  in  which  Peter  might  fare  so  immeasurably 
worse.  For  an  instant  she  shrank  from  the  or- 
deal. She  would  have  to  sink  her  pride  and  solicit 
him.  It  was  a  bitter  part  for  Vivette.  The 
words  dropped  from  her  low  and  quiet. 

"  You  may  stay  with  me  to-night." 

Peter  turned  uncertainly.  She  saw  his  face  like 
a  beaten  flame.  He  had  yet  to  realise  what  she 
was  saying. 


296  PETER  PARAGON 

"  We  are  alone,  Peter.  You  may  stay  with  me 
here.  I  ask  you  to  stay." 

Now  the  flame  spread  in  his  face  unchecked. 
She  had  dropped  the  veil,  and  he  was  driven 
towards  her. 

"  You  can  do  this,  Vivette,  and  yet  you  will  not 
marry  me." 

"  To-night." 

"  For  ever." 

"  For  ever  a  memory  —  with  nothing  to  re- 
gret." 

Peter  desperately  kissed  her,  but  with  his  climb- 
ing luxury  his  will  climbed  also,  and  his  spirit 
cried  out  again  for  a  justification.  Like  a  refrain 
he  repeated : 

"  This  means  you  will  marry  me." 

"  No." 

He  returned  wearily  to  his  point. 

"  You  do  not  care  enough,"  he  persisted. 

"  You  tell  me  that,"  she  cried,  "  after  what  I 
have  said  to  you !  " 

She  broke  from  him,  and  Peter  knew  he  was  far 
astray.  But  he  shut  himself  from  this  better 
knowledge.  He  gave  himself  up  to  his  fixed  idea. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you.  Prove  to  me  that 
you  care." 

"  I  have  proved  it." 

"  An  easy  proof." 

Peter  hated  himself  for  this  angry  stab  at  her. 
She  went  pale. 

*'H  I  did  not  mean  it,"  he  cried  at  once. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  297 

"  A  light  woman  lightly  offered,"  she  said,  inter- 
preting his  reproach. 

"  No." 

He  sank  beside  her  in  an  agony  of  penitence. 
But  she  drew  away  from  him,  and  he  accepted  her 
decision.  There  could  be  no  more  love  to-night. 
The  pallor  had  not  left  her  face,  and  it  struck  into 
Peter  a  sense  of  enormous  guilt.  Again  she  pitied 
him. 

"  Come  to  me  here  to-morrow,"  she  said.  "  I 
want  to  talk  to  you." 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him.  He  clasped  it 
good  night  and  left  her. 


XXXIX 

PETER,  away  from  Vivette,  knew  only  that  he  had 
wronged  her.  He  did  not  understand  exactly  how 
he  had  transgressed.  He  could  not  read  her 
conduct  at  all.  Her  strange  lapse  into  sincerity 
simply  puzzled  him.  She  had  seemed,  at  the 
moment  when  she  had  put  herself  into  his  hands, 
protective  and  thoughtful. 

Peter  knew  her  impulse  was  rooted  in  honour. 
He  exaggerated  the  evil  of  his  graceless  words, 
treading  the  familiar  way  of  abasement  and  re- 
morse. He  now  desired  only  to  be  pardoned. 
He  called  upon  her  at  an  early  hour. 

Vivette  had  spent  the  time  wondering  at  depths 
in  herself  unsuspected.  Hitherto  her  life  had  run 
a  career  of  adventurous  and  impulsive  hedonism. 
She  had  loved  easily,  and  easily  taken  the  thing 
she  desired.  She  only  asked  of  life  that  delicacy 
and  fair  play  should  not  be  offended.  She  did  not 
understand  virtue.  Her  principle  had  always  been 
lightly  to  take  the  way  of  least  resistance.  Now, 
suddenly  from  somewhere,  sprang  a  devoted  altru- 
ism —  a  passionate  resolution  that  another  should 
see  life  beautifully  open  its  treasure. 

Her  impulse  had  been  to  save  Peter  from 
sordidly  failing.  She  had  not  acted  from  jealousy. 
She  had  never  less  been  sensually  led  than  when 
she  had  entreated  Peter.  Her  lips  curved  in 

298 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  299 

contemplation  of  a  discovered  irony  in  things. 
Peter  had  urged  her  to  be  serious.  Very  well: 
Peter  should  that  day  be  made  to  realise  how  seri- 
ous she  could  be.  She  had  decided  to  talk  to  him 
frankly.  She  would  not  repeat  her  offer  or  allow 
it  now  to  be  accepted.  She  was  glad  that  it  had 
the  previous  evening  miscarried.  She  had  thought 
of  a  better  way.  Peter  must  be  made  to  under- 
stand his  condition. 

She  did  not  admit  that  her  offer  had  been 
wrongly  made.  Peter's  adventure  would  not  with 
her  have  ended  perfectly ;  but  neither  would  it  have 
ended  in  a  fruition  merely  brutal.  She  realised 
how  gradually  he  was  losing  grip  of  himself,  and 
saw  him  soon  as  tinder  for  any  woman  with  brains 
and  a  high  temperature.  She  saw  him  slipping  his 
self-respect.  She  would  last  night  have  saved  him 
from  the  worst.  There  was  friendliness  and  grace 
enough  between  them  to  justify  their  passion. 
But  Vivette  was  now  differently  inspired.  Surely 
Peter  could  be  braced  and  stiffened.  He  was  not 
yet  attacked  in  his  will.  He  was  merely  blind  and 
drifting,  perhaps  unaware  of  his  trouble. 

He  found  her  sitting,  an  image  of  graven  sever- 
ity, curiously  out  of  tune  with  her  cheerful  room. 
He  felt  like  a  schoolboy  called  to  repeat  a  lesson 
in  which  he  had  failed  to  satisfy. 

"  I  have  offended  you,"  he  tragically  began. 

But  Vivette  intended  to  be  strictly  sensible. 

"  That  is  what  I  want  to  talk  about,"  she  said, 
very  matter-of-fact.  "  I  don't  think  you  under- 


300  PETER  PARAGON 

stand  what  happened  last  night.  I  am  going  to 
tell  you." 

Peter  was  puzzled.  She  was  not  Vivette  of  the 
shallow  eyes.  He  caught  her  hands  to  draw  her 
towards  him,  but  she  firmly  resisted. 

"  No,  Peter.  Sit  still  and  listen  to  what  I  have 
to  say." 

Peter  flung  himself,  evilly  discontented,  in  a  far 
corner  of  the  settee. 

"  You  always  wanted  me  to  be  serious,"  said 
Vivette,  looking  at  him  with  some  amusement. 
"  But  it  does  not  seem  to  please  you." 

Peter  could  not  at  once  recover  from  his  re- 
jected tenderness,  but  he  felt  he  was  behaving 
badly  again.  He  contrived  to  put  a  little  grace 
into  his  manner. 

"  I  will  listen,"  he  said  briefly. 

4  Tell  me,"  Vivette  began,  "  what  are  you  sup- 
posed to  be  doing  with  yourself?  " 

"  Doing  with  myself?  "  he  echoed.  Already  he 
was  conscious  of  her  drift. 

'  You  never  talk  of  your  work." 

"  I  am  reading  for  the  Bar." 

"  What  does  that  mean?  "  she  smiled.  Vivette 
had  met  these  young  barristers. 

"  I  shall  soon  be  called." 

"  Till  then,  you  will  be  waiting  for  work." 

"  You  are  interested?  "  Peter  inquired  with  an 
effort  to  assume  an  innocent  detachment. 

"  Hasn't  it  occurred  to  you,"  Vivette  persisted, 
"  that  you're  in  rather  a  bad  way?  " 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  301 

He  moved  uncomfortably,  then  rushed  to  the 
point: 

"  You  mean  I'm  just  loafing  about?  " 

"  You're  not  really  interested  in  your  work." 

"  You  are  indeed  serious,"  said  Peter,  again  try- 
ing to  make  light  of  her  catechism.  "  Aren't  you 
overdoing  it?  " 

Vivette  sharply  rebuked  him,  and  he  did  not 
again  interrupt.  She  held  to  him  an  unflattering 
mirror  in  which  he  saw  an  image  of  himself  which 
frightened  him.  He  was  rich.  He  had  nothing 
particular  to  do.  He  drifted  about,  meeting 
elegant  and  attractive  people  —  mostly  women. 
Everywhere  he  unconsciously  opened  himself  to 
one  appeal.  He  was  idle;  and  he  was  obsessed. 

He  struggled  against  this  indictment.  He  even 
became  angry.  What  did  this  talk  of  Vivette 
really  mean  ?  It  meant  that  he  desperately  loved 
her. 

"This  obsession  you  tell  me  of!"  he  cried. 
"  It  is  you." 

"  For  the  time  being,"  she  shortly  answered. 

"  Always,"  he  insisted. 

"  It  might  easily  be  someone  else.  Think, 
Peter.  Have  you  once  been  free  during  these  last 
years?  " 

Peter  was  silent. 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  say?  "  he  asked  at 
last. 

"  I  want  you  to  realise  there  are  other  things. 
You  must  not  give  way  to  this  fixed  idea." 


302  PETER  PARAGON 

Where  before  had  Peter  heard  this?  It 
seemed  an  echo.  But  he  shut  his  ears. 

"  I  have  only  one  fixed  idea.  It  is  to  marry 
you.  You  are  pleading  against  yourself,  Vivette." 

"  Put  me  out  of  account,"  she  said  sharply.  "  I 
have  already  refused." 

They  were  again  at  the  point  where  last  night 
they  had  failed  to  agree. 

Peter  rose  and  walked  to  the  end  of  the  room 
and  back  to  Vivette.  He  was  beginning  to  meas- 
ure her  strength  and  subtlety,  and  they  made  it 
more  difficult  to  lose  her.  His  blood  rose  against 
the  idea.  He  caught  her  roughly  by  the  arm. 

"  Suppose  I  cannot  put  all  this  away?  Suppose 
it  has  to  be  really  an  episode?  " 

Her  arm  tightened  under  his  grip.  She  became 
cold  and  hostile. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  she  said. 

Peter  felt  his  mind  twisting  like  a  serpent : 

"  Will  you  come  back  with  me  to  last  night?  " 

"  You  are  talking  nonsense.  Put  your  head 
into  your  law-books,  write  plays,  travel  about  — 
anything." 

"  I  want  you,  Vivette." 

She  rose,  and  stood  dismissing  him.  "  This  is 
worse  than  I  thought.  You  are  ready  to  take  the 
second  best." 

"  You  are  first  and  last." 

"  Therefore,"  she  lashed  at  him,  "  you  want  me 
for  a  mistress." 

"  I  have  asked  you  to  marry  me." 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  303 

"  Marriage  would  not  be  the  truth." 

Peter  clenched  his  hands :  "  On  any  terms  I 
must  have  you." 

"  That  is  for  me  to  say." 

Peter  looked  at  Vivette  and  found  her  inex- 
orably set  against  him.  Clearly  she  was  not  that 
day  to  be  moved.  His  passion  died,  and  her 
words  went  poignantly  home.  He  released  her 
arm.  His  increasing  dejection  prompted  Vivette 
to  soften  the  steel  of  her  manner : 

"  Cool  yourself,  Peter.  Put  me  out  of  your 
mind.  You  are  not  looking  for  a  mistress,  and  I 
want  you  to  wait  for  the  real  thing." 

"  To  have  you  would  be  very  real.  You  have 
proved  already  that  you  love  me." 

She  saw  again  the  serpent's  head  and  crushed  it. 

"  I  have  loved  before,"  she  said  deliberately. 
"  Last  night  would  have  meant  less  to  me  than  to 
you.  Is  that  what  you  want?  " 

Peter  cursed  himself,  and  went. 

"  Good-bye,"  Vivette  called  to  him.  "  Next 
time  we  meet  I  expect  you  to  be  in  a  better  mind." 

Vivette  now  had  leisure  to  be  surprised  at 
herself. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  had  refused 
something  she  really  wanted.  She  decided  that 
this  was  the  limit  of  her  generosity.  She  had 
refused  Peter  for  herself,  but  at  any  rate  no  other 
woman  should,  without  a  title,  pluck  the  fruit  of 
her  sacrifice.  She  would  closely  examine  any 
claim  on  Peter  which  might  be  made. 


XL 

IT  did  not  take  Peter  long  to  feel  that  Vivette  was 
wholly  right.  He  blushed  to  recall  how  he  had 
justified  her  indictment  by  the  way  in  which  he 
had  received  it. 

That  evening  he  made  a  plan.  He  had  called 
the  immediate  future  to  account,  and  found  he 
had  six  months  to  spare  without  much  prospect 
of  being  usefully  absorbed. 

"  I  must  get  away  from  all  this,"  he  decided. 

At  the  end  of  an  evening  spent  restlessly  at 
home,  he  startled  Mrs.  Paragon  with  the  prospect 
of  six  months  on  the  high  seas. 

"  We  will  have  a  yacht,"  he  told  her.  "  I  want 
to  learn  all  about  sailing.  We'll  go  right  away." 

Mrs.  Paragon  calmly  considered  this.  She  was 
alarmed  for  Peter,  though  she  did  not  know  the  ex- 
tent of  his  last  infatuation.  Peter  had  instinc- 
tively kept  Vivette  out  of  his  conversation.  His 
mother  and  Vivette  moved  in  different  circles,  and 
they  had  not  yet  met.  Mrs.  Paragon  only  knew 
that  Peter  had  recently  become  profoundly  inter- 
ested in  the  theatre.  Nevertheless  Mrs.  Paragon 
perceived  as  clearly  as  Vivette  how  things  were 
with  him. 

:'  Where  do  you  think  of  going?  "  She  showed 
no  surprise  at  his  sudden  idea. 

304 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  305 

"  Anywhere,"  said  Peter  vaguely. 

"  When  do  you  think  of  starting?  " 

"  Immediately." 

Mrs.  Paragon  realised  that  something  had 
happened. 

'  This  is  very  sudden,"  she  suggested. 

"  I've  been  thinking,  mother." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  Mrs.  Paragon  inquired,  quite 
innocent  of  any  desire  to  be  satirical.  She  merely 
asked. 

"  I  ought  to  be  doing  something,"  Peter  ex- 
plained. "  I  know  all  this  law  stuff  by  heart. 
I'm  sick  of  London." 

"  I  thought  you  were  so  interested  in  every- 
thing." 

"  No,  mother." 

"  Not  in  the  theatre  ?  " 

Again  Mrs.  Paragon  merely  asked. 

"  That's  over  now,"  said  Peter. 

Mrs.  Paragon  reached  at  the  heart  of  things  in 
one  sure  gesture  of  the  mind. 

"What  has  she  said  to  you?"  she  calmly  in- 
quired. 

Peter  stared  in  the  manner  of  one  whose 
thoughts  are  unexpectedly  read. 

"  I  asked  her  to  marry  me." 

"She  refused?" 

"  She  wants  me  to  think  of  something  else." 

Mrs.  Paragon  wondered  a  moment  why  an 
actress  had  refused.  She  also  wondered  whether 
the  actress  might  not  change  her  mind. 


3o6  PETER  PARAGON 

"  I  will  come  with  you,  Peter,"  she  said  deci- 
sively. 

Peter  flung  himself  with  ardour  into  the  work 
of  finding  a  boat  and  getting  together  a  crew- 
His  condition  was  well  known  to  Atterbury,  who 
persuaded  Haversham  to  help  him  in  getting 
Peter  equipped.  They  hunted  out  a  skipper  in 
Havre  whose  quality  they  knew,  Atterbury  going 
to  interview  and  bring  him  over.  It  was  decided 
they  should  sail  immediately. 

Vivette  was  soberly  pleased  at  the  success  of 
her  one  good  action. 

"  I've  ordered  Peter  into  the  South  Seas,"  she 
told  Atterbury.  "  I  think  he'll  be  safe  from  the 
brown  ladies." 

It  was  arranged  that  Peter  should  give  a  fare- 
well dinner.  Atterbury  insisted  on  the  Savoy, 
and  tactfully  picked  a  day  when  the  Wenderbys 
were  to  be  out  of  town.  He  frankly  discussed 
the  position  over  Mrs.  Paragon's  dinner-table  in 
Curzon  Street.  Vivette  was  there  —  accepted  by 
Mrs.  Paragon  with  large  reserve. 

"  We  want  all  Peter's  friends,"  he  said,  "  except 
those  who  cannot  be  present.  It  will  be  an  ad- 
vantage if  Lady  Mary  is  far  away.  She  doesn't 
go  at  all  well  with  Vivette." 

"  Agreed,"  said  Vivette.  "  She  would  snuff  me 
out.  This  is  to  be  my  feast.  I  hardly  know 
whether  I  ought  to  allow  Mrs.  Paragon,"  she 
added. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Mrs.  Paragon  shortly. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  307 

"  But  it  isn't  nonsense,"  persisted  Vivette.  "  I 
shall  simply  disappear  beside  you." 

"  Then  you  must  make  up  your  mind  to  it,"  said 
Atterbury.  "  I'm  arranging  this  dinner,  and  I 
must  have  Mrs.  Paragon.  I  have  given  up  Lady 
Mary." 

"  We  ought  to  have  Lady  Mary  on  the  mantel- 
piece," said  Vivette.  "  She'd  go  so  well  with  the 
china." 

"  Envy,"  Atterbury  retorted.  "  You  say  that 
because  you  can't  sit  still,  and  haven't  a  decent 
feature  in  your  face." 

"  Lady  Mary  is  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the 
world,"  Peter  solemnly  intervened. 

"  Hark  to  the  oracle,"  cried  Vivette. 

"  He's  not  far  wrong,"  said  Atterbury.  "  My 
heart  always  beats  a  little  faster  when  she  comes 
suddenly  round  the  corner  in  a  crush." 

"  Her  mouth  is  all  wrong." 

"  Glass  houses,  Vivette  —  you've  nothing  but 
your  figure  and  the  noise  you  make." 

"  You  agree  with  Peter?  " 

"  Not  entirely.  Lady  Mary's  good  for  a 
queen." 

"  She's  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the  world," 
Peter  insisted. 

"  You're  wrong,  Peter.  I  saw  the  most  beauti- 
ful woman  in  the  world  four  days  ago." 

"  This  is  interesting,"  said  Vivette. 

"  It  was  in  the  boat  from  Havre.  I  saw  at  once 
how  beautiful  she  was  and  looked  after  her.  She 


308  PETER  PARAGON 

is  now  at  Claridge's  and  refuses  to  see  me.  I 
think  she's  from  Brittany.  Maddened  by  her 
extreme  loveliness,  I  indiscreetly  dreamed  she 
might  come  to  our  dinner." 

"  Just  as  we  are  sending  Peter  safely  out  of 
harm's  way,"  exclaimed  Vivette.  "  You  must 
have  lost  your  senses." 

11 1  have." 

'  What  is  her  name?  "  Peter  asked. 

4  You  see,"  said  Vivette,  "  you  have  already 
excited  the  poor  boy." 

"  I  have  got  her  picture." 

"  Is  it  a  funny  one  ?  "  asked  Vivette. 

"  I'm  more  than  a  caricaturist.  I  made  a  sketch 
of  her  on  deck  when  she  wasn't  looking.  What 
do  you  think  of  her,  Mrs.  Paragon?  " 

Mrs.  Paragon  took  the  sketch  and  quietly 
examined  it. 

"  I  should  like  her  to  come  to  Peter's  dinner," 
she  said.  "  What  is  her  name?  " 

"  Mdlle.  Le  Roy,"  said  Atterbury. 

Vivette  looked  at  Mrs.  Paragon  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"May  I  look?"  she  asked.  Mrs.  Paragon 
handed  her  the  sketch. 

"  Yes,"  said  Vivette,  "  she  is  certainly  beau- 
tiful." 

Atterbury  turned  to  her: 

"  She  will  be  worse  for  you  than  Lady  Mary.'* 

'  That  was  my  nonsense.  I  love  a  beautiful 
woman."  She  handed  back  the  picture. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  309 

"  Peter  hasn't  seen  it.  He  may  not  approve," 
she  warned  Atterbury. 

"  I'm  arranging  this  dinner,"  said  Atterbury. 
"  Still  Peter  may  look." 

"  I'll  wait  for  the  original,"  Peter  growled. 

"Where  do  you  say  she  is  staying?"  said 
Peter's  mother  to  Atterbury. 

Atterbury  wrote  out  the  name  and  address  on  a 
card  and  gave  it  to  Mrs.  Paragon. 

"  I  see  this  is  your  affair,"  he  said.  "  I  rely 
on  you." 

Mrs.  Paragon  now  took  Vivette  into  the  draw- 
ing-room. Peter  and  his  friend  talked  yachting 
shop,  and  gave  them  time  to  become  better  ac- 
quainted. 

Mrs.  Paragon  did  not  take  kindly  to  Vivette, 
but  she  realised  that,  as  a  mother,  she  owed  her 
something,  and  she  tried  to  put  away  her  distrust. 
They  talked  without  reserve,  so  far  as  appearance 
went;  but  Vivette  knew  she  was  not  admitted  far. 
She  ruefully  accepted  the  inevitable.  She  did  not 
understand  at  all  why  Mrs.  Paragon  had  taken  it 
into  her  head  to  bring  a  stranger  into  Peter's 
farewell.  Mrs.  Paragon  mildly  baffled  her  polite 
astonishment. 

"Is  it  quite  fair  to  me?"  asked  Vivette,  still 
talking  of  Mdlle.  Le  Roy.  "  I  think  I  deserve  to 
be  considered.  I'm  sending  Peter  away." 

"  He  will  come  back,"  said  Mrs.  Paragon 
briefly. 

"  Safe  and  sound,"  Vivette  put  in. 


310  PETER  PARAGON 

"  Then  you  may  change  your  mind." 

"  I  can  be  really  serious  in  some  ways." 

"  There  is  a  risk,"  Mrs.  Paragon  insisted. 

Her  obstinacy  reminded  Vivette  of  Peter  at  his 
worst. 

"  There  is  always  a  risk,"  she  protested. 
"  You  can't  tie  Peter  up." 

"No:  I  can't  tie  Peter  up,"  Mrs.  Paragon 
agreed,  shutting  her  lips. 

Vivette  tried  to  get  in  by  another  door. 

"  Mdlle.  Le  Roy,"  she  suggested,  "  is  going  to 
efface  me." 

"  Why  should  I  wish  it?  "  Mrs.  Paragon  inno- 
cently inquired. 

"  Perhaps  you  like  the  look  of  her." 

"  ?  do'" 
Vivette  sighed. 

"  Peter  won't  have  a  very  happy  farewell,"  she 
said. 

A  week  later  Atterbury  remembered  his  beauti- 
ful stranger  only  as  a  guest  to  be  identified  by  a 
card  upon  the  table.  Peter  had  entirely  forgotten 
her,  and  Vivette,  looking  forward  to  an  evening 
of  light  pleasure,  agreeably  dashed  with  regret,  did 
not  take  Mdlle.  Le  Roy  into  serious  account. 

The  whole  party  was  assembled  in  the  Pinafore 
rooms  at  the  Savoy,  but  Mrs.  Paragon  had  not  yet 
arrived.  Peter  had  come  early  to  approve  the 
arrangements  Atterbury  had  made,  and  had  left 
his  mother  to  follow  by  way  of  Claridge's.  He 
was  talking  now  with  Haversham. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  311 

Vivette  saw  a  light  leap  suddenly  into  Peter's 
eyes.  He  seemed  like  one  confronted  with  a 
miracle. 

"  This,"  Vivette  bitterly  concluded,  "  is  love  at 
first  sight." 

But  Vivette  was  wrong.  Peter's  brain  was 
dazzled  as  by  lightning.  A  flood  of  forgotten  life 
was  loosed  upon  him  out  of  the  past.  He  was 
looking  at  Miranda. 


XLI 

MRS.  PARAGON  had  at  once  recognised  Atter- 
bury's  sketch.  She  went,  the  day  after  she  had 
seen  it,  to  verify,  waiting  in  the  hotel  in  quiet 
amazement.  It  seemed  strange  to  come  to  this 
place  for  Miranda.  She  remembered  her  as  an 
awkward  girl,  hoydenly  and  tempestuous,  absurdly 
transfigured  by  Peter's  worship.  Then  she  had 
found  her  again  sleeping  in  Peter's  brain,  to  lose 
her  for  ever  in  a  brutal  disaster  of  the  sea. 

Miranda  came  slowly  to  meet  her,  holding  in 
her  hand  the  card  she  had  sent. 

She  had  grown  to  the  loveliness  Peter  had  di- 
vined in  her.  Her  eyes  had  softened,  their  pas- 
sion held  in  reserve.  The  lines  of  her  beauty  were 
severe,  but  their  severity  veiled  the  promise  of  her 
surrender.  She  was  radiant  with  a  vitality  se- 
renely masked  —  a  queen  ready  at  the  true  word  to 
come  down. 

She  looked  from  the  card  she  held  to  Mrs. 
Paragon. 

"  You  are  Peter's  mother,"  she  said,  in  the 
manner  of  one  speaking  to  herself. 

"You  remember  him?"  asked  Mrs.  Paragon. 

Miranda  did  not  answer. 

"  Come  to  my  room,"  she  said,  and  led  the  way 
upstairs. 

Her  room  was  cheerful  with  firelight  and  simple 
312 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  313 

comfort.  Mrs.  Paragon  again  wondered  at  find- 
ing her  thus  alone  and  able  to  command.  Mi- 
randa drew  her  a  chair  to  the  fire,  and,  as  Mrs. 
Paragon  sat  down,  she  put  an  arm  about  her  shoul- 
der and  looked  at  her. 

"  I've  often  wondered  what  you  were  like,"  she 
said. 

'You  had  forgotten?" 

"  I  was  only  a  girl.  Memories  are  not  to  be 
trusted." 

"  You  never  tried  to  correct  them?  " 

"  I  have  heard  of  you  often.  You  did  not  seem 
to  want  me." 

"  I  have  been  looking  for  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Paragon. 

"  Have  you  found  what  you  expected?  " 

Mrs.  Paragon  put  her  hand  upon  Miranda's 
arm. 

"  Indeed  I  have,"  she  quietly  asserted.  "  I 
think  you  are  the  girl  that  Peter  knew." 

"  Please,"  Miranda  entreated.  Mrs.  Paragon 
had  moved  too  quickly  towards  her  secret.  There 
was  a  short  silence. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Miranda  at  last.  "  When  did 
you  begin  to  look  for  me  ?  " 

"  As  soon  as  I  knew  that  Peter  needed  you." 

"He  needs  me?"  said  Miranda  quickly. 
"  How  do  you  know  that?  " 

"  He  was  once  very  ill.  He  talked  of  you  con- 
tinually." 

"  I  have  heard  of  Peter,"  she  objected  a  little 


3H  PETER  PARAGON 

hardly.  "  I  have  heard  of  him  as  entirely  happy. 
Lately,  too,  in  Paris  I  met  a  friend  of  Vivette 
Claire." 

"  Peter  is  in  need  of  you,"  Mrs.  Paragon  in- 
sisted. 

She  spoke  as  one  returning  to  the  thing  which 
really  mattered. 

"  I  wonder."  Miranda  looked  thoughtfully  at 
Mrs.  Paragon. 

"  You  are  like  my  memory  of  you,"  she  con- 
tinued. "  I  remember  you  as  always  quiet  and 
wise  —  as  one  who  said  only  what  was  true." 

"  I  know  that  Peter  needs  you." 

"Does  Peter  himself  know?"  Miranda  drily 
asked. 

"  I  want  you  to  come  back.  He  will  know  when 
he  sees  you." 

"  You  believe,  if  I  met  him  to-morrow,  the  years 
between  would  disappear?"  Miranda  suggested, 
smiling  at  her  idea. 

"  I  am  sure,"  Mrs.  Paragon  insisted. 

"  It  would  be  interesting,"  said  Miranda. 

Her  touch  of  irony  was  lost  on  Peter's  mother, 
who  saw  no  call  for  smiling. 

"  Have  you  no  feeling  for  Peter?  "  she  seriously 
urged. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  Miranda  answered  bluntly, 
with  a  small  shrug  of  her  shoulders. 

"  Ask  yourself." 

"  It  is  for  Peter  to  ask." 

"  This  is  not  generous,  Miranda." 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  315 

Miranda  rose  and  walked  to  the  fire.  She  stood 
for  a  moment  looking  away  from  Mrs.  Paragon. 

"  I  will  tell  you  the  truth,"  she  said  at  last.  "  I 
went  out  of  Peter's  life  five  years  ago,  and  I  said 
I  would  not  return  unless  he  wanted  me.  He  was 
only  a  boy.  I  have  put  away  all  thought  of  him. 
If  I  come  back  to  him  now,  I  come  as  a  stranger 
to  be  won  again.  I  do  not  know  Peter  to-day." 

"  Peter  is  still  the  same." 

Miranda  was  beginning  to  rebel  against  the 
immovable  conviction  of  Peter's  mother.  Mrs. 
Paragon  was  so  calm  and  sure. 

"How  can  I  know  that?"  she  exclaimed  im- 
patiently. 

"  You  can  meet  him,"  answered  Mrs.  Paragon. 
She  had  the  air  of  one  suggesting  the  obvious 
thing  to  a  child. 

Miranda  began  to  be  seriously  moved.  Could 
she  recapture  the  dead  time?  She  saw  herself 
quaintly  perched  on  the  slates  of  a  roof  sobbing  her 
heart  out,  and  again  in  a  dark  garden  with  Peter 
suddenly  on  his  knees  to  her,  kissing  the  hem  of 
her  frock.  Perhaps,  if  she  met  him,  without 
allowing  him  time  to  prepare,  the  truth  would  flash 
out  of  him. 

"  Where  can  I  meet  him  suddenly?  "  she  asked. 

Mrs.  Paragon  quietly  accepted  her  victory. 

"  I  have  come  to  invite  you,"  she  said.  *  You 
shall  see  him  with  Vivette  Claire." 

"What  have  I  to  do?" 

"  You  need  only  be  ready  here  in  a  week's  time. 


316  PETER  PARAGON 

I  will  take  you  to  dinner.  It  is  a  farewell  dinner. 
Peter  is  going  to  sea  for  six  months." 

"  I  will  come." 

This  was  not  Mrs.  Paragon's  last  visit  to 
Claridge's.  In  the  days  between  her  discovery  of 
Miranda  and  Peter's  dinner  she  talked  with 
Miranda  frequently  and  long.  Miranda  learned 
the  whole  story  of  Peter's  life;  learned  also  to 
sound  every  deep  place  in  his  mother. 

Of  Miranda  there  was  less  to  tell  than  the 
change  in  her  seemed  to  require.  Her  father  and 
mother  had  drowned  fighting  for  life  in  the  sea. 
She  had  waited  on  deck  to  the  last,  calmly  accepting 
her  fate.  The  terrible  scenes  about  her  of  people 
huddled  to  a  brutal  end  had  not  shaken  her  spirit. 
At  the  last  moment  she  was  pulled  on  to  a  raft, 
and  made  fast  by  the  man  who  had  found  it. 
They  passed  through  the  night  together,  and  he 
said  she  had  saved  him  from  despair.  He  was  a 
Canadian  farmer  of  French  extraction.  She 
passed  for  two  years  as  his  daughter,  and  at  his 
death  inherited  his  fortune.  He  had  made  her 
love  the  French,  and  she  had  lived  mainly  in 
France  for  the  last  three  years. 

Thus  had  Miranda  been  kept,  aloof  and  free; 
and  thus  wonderfully  restored.  There  were  a 
hundred  prosaic  ways  in  which  her  rediscovery 
might  have  been  arranged;  but  for  Peter,  because 
Peter  was  young,  the  incredible  was  achieved. 
Chance  had  waited  for  her  most  effective  moment, 
and  was  resolute  that  it  should  not  be  marred. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  317 

Miranda's  coming,  like  all  true  miracles,  could 
only  grow  more  wonderful  the  more  it  was  ex- 
plained. 

Upon  the  evening  of  Peter's  dinner,  Mrs.  Para- 
gon found  Miranda  serenely  ready.  She  admitted 
to  no  excitement. 

"  You  need  not  look  at  me  like  that,"  she  said 
to  Mrs.  Paragon  when  they  met.  "  I  am  going 
to  be  introduced  to  a  strange  young  man.  It  is 
not  at  all  disturbing." 

A  few  minutes  later  she  passed  into  the  room 
where  Peter's  friends  were  waiting.  Atterbury 
claimed  her  at  once.  Then  it  came  to  a  meeting. 
She  caught  Peter  in  the  flash  of  his  discovery. 
The  sudden  glory  of  his  lighted  face  blinded  her  to 
the  years  between  them.  She  felt  her  pulses  leap 
eagerly  at  her  sovereign  peace,  but  outwardly  she 
was  still.  She  calmly  ignored  his  recognition. 
She  bowed  to  him  as  a  stranger,  and  passed  in  to 
dinner  with  Atterbury. 


XLII 

PETER  at  dinner  was  next  Vivette,  and  Atterbury, 
with  Miranda,  was  at  the  far  end  of  a  long  table. 
He  heard  only  snatches  of  their  talk,  enough  to 
show  that  Miranda  entirely  outmatched  him  in  con- 
versation and  address.  She  was  complete  mistress 
of  herself.  She  had  put  away  all  sense  of  crisis, 
ignoring  the  tumult  of  her  late  encounter.  Atter- 
bury loved  all  things  French,  and  Peter  had  many 
opportunities  to  notice  their  enthusiastic  agree- 
ment. 

Peter  could  not  so  well  recover.  Miranda's 
return  had  blotted  out  the  last  five  years.  He 
saw  no  change  in  her.  She  was  the  woman  he  had 
always  divined  her  to  be.  He  had  never  seen  in 
her  the  awkward  girl  whose  disappearance  Mrs. 
Paragon  had  noted.  Her  refusal  to  accept  him  at 
once  and  take  up  their  life  from  the  point  at  which 
they  had  parted  became  increasingly  absurd  as  in 
numberless  gestures,  in  the  play  of  her  spirit  made 
visible,  he  recognised  ever  more  clearly  the  girl  he 
had  lost.  His  wonder  grew,  equally,  at  the  way  in 
which  for  five  years  he  had  ignored  her  existence. 
These  years  now  seemed  unreal.  Surely  he  had 
loved  her  always,  and  always  had  been  full  of  her. 

If  only  he  called  to  her  in  the  old  familiar  way, 
surely  she  would  no  longer  play  the  stranger.  She 

318 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  319 

would  recognise  their  bond,  and  all  this  pageant, 
holding  them  absurdly  apart,  would  disappear. 

Miranda  knew  how  Peter  watched  her;  how  he 
was  living  himself  back  into  the  past ;  how  he  was 
seeking  for  a  sign  that  she  admitted  their  union. 
But  she  would  not  yet  confess  that  between  them 
a  secret  current  ran  even  as  she  talked  and  laughed 
and  accepted  Atterbury's  vivacious  gallantry.  She 
had  yet  to  hear  from  Peter  why  for  five  years  he 
had  made  no  sign.  He  deserved  at  any  rate  to  be 
put  on  his  defence. 

Peter's  wonderful  last  adventure  returned  upon 
him  in  waves  of  uphappy  consciousness,  to  be  de- 
cently put  away  in  heroic  efforts  to  entertain  his 
guests,  and  be  the  companion  of  Vivette.  But 
it  was  always  with  a  start  of  the  mind  that  he 
returned  to  his  duties. 

Vivette  was  deeply  offended.  Peter  was  again 
on  fire.  She  had  seen  him  leap  into  flame  at  the 
sight  of  a  stranger.  She  had  not  expected  her 
warning  to  Peter  to  be  so  quickly  justified.  His 
behaviour  to-night,  to  put  it  no  higher,  was  a 
breach  of  manners.  She  had  taken  Peter  very 
seriously,  and  he  now  was  doing  his  best  to  show 
she  had  been  mistaken.  Her  face  visibly  burned 
when  she  remembered  how  intimately  she  had 
abased  herself.  He  had  touched  a  deeper  vein  in 
her  than  she  had  known,  but  now  he  was  turning 
her  late  act  to  ridicule. 

She  talked  to  him  only  in  answers,  and  several 
times  he  found  her  distastefully  watching  the  ab- 


320  PETER  PARAGON 

sorbed  trend  of  his  attention  towards  Miranda. 
Peter  was  now  wholly  wretched.  Between  him- 
self and  Miranda  a  gulf  was  fixed,  and  Vivette's 
hostility  aggravated  his  misery. 

At  last  Vivette  and  Peter  were  isolated  from  the 
conversation.  Their  neighbours  were  each  talk- 
ing on  the  other  side.  Peter  felt  the  strain  was  be- 
coming intolerable.  He  had  turned  from  watch- 
ing Miranda  to  Vivette,  and  her  contemptuous 
amusement  whipped  him  to  a  defence. 

"This  is  not  what.it  seems,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  Perfection  at  last,"  Vivette  contemptuously 
suggested. 

"  I  have  known  her  for  years,"  he  pleaded, 
glancing  towards  Miranda. 

"  Really  I  can't  listen.  Let  us  at  least  bury  our 
own  affair." 

"  I  am  speaking  the  literal  truth." 

Vivette  was  surprised  at  his  vehemence. 

"  I  am  not  good  at  riddles,"  she  said,  looking  at 
him  closely. 

'  You  don't  know  what  has  happened." 

"  I  know,"  Vivette  retorted  in  a  voice  that  cut 
him,  "  that  you  have  had  the  discourtesy  to  be 
smitten  with  a  strange  woman  within  a  week  of 
making  love  to  me." 

"  She  is  the  first  woman  I  ever  knew." 

Vivette  looked  closely  at  Peter. 

"  It  is  the  literal  truth,"  he  said.  "  Five  years 
ago." 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  321 

Vivette  looked  from  his  face,  blazing  with 
veracity,  to  the  very  sociable  stranger  at  the  other 
end  of  the  table. 

"  She  does  not  seem  to  remember,"  she  objected 
incisively. 

Peter  followed  Vivette's  glance  towards  Mi- 
randa, radiantly  responding  to  the  talk  of  Atter- 
bury. 

Conversation  broke  out  again  on  either  side, 
claiming  them.  Vivette  had  seen  the  truth  in 
Peter's  face.  Her  hostility  was  checked.  She 
felt  another  kind  of  interest  in  Miranda,  watching 
her  carefully.  When  next  she  had  an  opportunity 
of  speaking  in  a  personal  way  to  Peter  she  had 
discovered  that  Miranda  was  less  remote  from 
Peter's  excitement  than  she  seemed.  Her  mind 
rapidly  and  generously  took  in  the  new  position. 

"  What  is  her  name?  "  she  abruptly  asked  when 
they  were  free  to  talk. 

"  Her  name  was  Miranda.  Her  other  name 
was  not  Le  Roy.  I  had  lost  sight  of  her." 

"  Had  you  also  forgotten  her?  " 

;'  Till  to-night." 

"  And  now,"  said  Vivette,  not  without  sarcasm, 
"  you  think  you  have  always  remembered." 

"  How  do  you  know  that?  "  Peter  asked. 

Vivette  looked  at  his  poor  face  and  smiled. 
"  She  remembers  you,  Peter,"  she  said.  "  She 
remembers  you  very  well." 

"  She  is  utterly  absorbed,"  objected  Peter. 

"  It  is  overdone,"  Vivette  decided. 


322  PETER  PARAGON 

"  Why  should  she  do  it  at  all?  " 

"  You  best  know  if  it  serves  you  right." 

"  She  must  think  I  have  never  cared." 

"  Your  mother  arranged  this  meeting,"  said 
Vivette  in  meditation. 

"  She  must  have  recognised  Miranda  from  the 
sketch,"  Peter  explained. 

"  How  did  your  mother  know  you  would  re- 
member her?  " 

"  She  knows  everything,"  said  Peter  simply. 

Mrs.  Paragon  sat  quietly  with  Haversham. 
Haversham  had  noticed  Peter's  strange  behaviour, 
and  Mrs.  Paragon  had  already  told  him  the  whole 
tale.  The  dinner  proceeded  to  an  end,  its  essential 
currents  moving  beneath  the  surface.  Miranda, 
with  veiled  eyes,  admitted  by  no  sign  that  they  in 
the  least  affected  her.  But  she  was  gradually 
flooded  with  a  tide  of  happiness.  She  held  it  off, 
allowing  it  only  to  polish  further  the  glitter  of  her 
surface. 

Peter's  crowning  misery  that  night  was  the 
speeches.  Atterbury,  proposing  him,  was  un- 
aware of  any  need  for  discretion.  He  tactfully 
and  wittily  pinned  the  toast  to  his  caricature,  al- 
ready famous,  of  Peter  as  the  Pilgrim  of  Love. 
The  table  roared  with  delight,  and,  finding  Peter's 
response  lacking  in  conviction,  was  more  delighted 
at  this  further  proof  that  Atterbury's  barbs  had 
stuck. 

At  last  the  party  broke  up.  Vivette  had  by  that 
time  carefully  measured  Miranda. 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  323 

"  This  is  good-bye,  indeed,"  she  said  to  Peter  at 
parting.  Peter  had  taken  her  home  to  the  flat  in 
Soho.  His  mother  had  gone  with  Atterbury  and 
Miranda. 

"  I'm  not  sure  that  I  shall  go,"  answered  Peter 
obtusely,  thinking  of  his  desolate  voyage. 

"  Precisely,"  said  Vivette.  "  That  is  why  I  am 
saying  good-bye." 

Vivette  held  out  her  hand.  Peter  dubiously 
held  it  a  moment. 

"  I  have  treated  you  very  badly,  Vivette." 

"  I  am  well  pleased." 

"  I  owe  you  so  much,"  he  insisted. 

She  put  her  free  hand  on  his  shoulder  and 
lightly  kissed  him. 

"  How  good  you  are,  Vivette,"  Peter  fervently 
exclaimed. 

"  You're  spoiling  it,  as  usual,"  said  Vivette, 
softly  writhing.  "  Please  go  at  once.  I  am  in  the 
mood  to  part  with  you." 


XLIII 

VIVETTE  did  not  without  regret  see  Peter  go. 
But  she  had  seen  enough  to  realise  that  his  ad- 
ventures were  at  an  end.  She  surrendered  him 
to  a  better  claim,  as  always  she  had  decided  to  do. 
Her  comedy,  she  told  herself,  had  on  the  whole 
finished  happily.  Vivette  had  the  fortunate  ability 
to  be  done  for  ever  with  things  ended.  She  was 
too  thoroughly  a  player  to  wish  the  curtain  raised 
upon  a  story  technically  finished. 

Peter,  too,  had  rung  down  the  veil  on  his  pil- 
grimage. He  wanted  to  take  up  his  life  from  the 
moment  at  which  he  had  looked  for  Miranda  in 
an  empty  house.  It  all  came  vividly  to  his  mind 
again.  The  short  ride  home  was  thronged  with 
scenes  from  his  life  of  a  boy.  They  rose  from  the 
stirred  pools  of  memory.  He  could  see  pale  clus- 
ters of  the  evening  primrose,  and  smell  the  laden 
air  of  a  place  where  he  had  waited  for  her  long 
ago.  He  saw  a  heap  of  discoloured  paper  dimly 
lit  by  a  struck  match,  lying  in  a  far  corner  of  a 
raftered  room  where  he  had  lost  her. 

How  could  this  girl  have  become  a  stranger? 
It  was  impossible.  Yet  it  was  also  impossible  that 
he  for  five  years  had  neglected  to  look  for  her. 
He  had  not  remembered  her  for  five  years.  He 

324 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  325 

could  not  now  believe  it.     The  five  years  con- 
fronted him,  inexorably  accusing. 

He  reached  Curzon  Street,  and  at  once  looked 
for  his  mother.  She  could  tell  him  all  there  was 
to  know  of  Miranda,  and  in  the  morning  he  would 
go  to  her.  His  mother  came  from  her  room  as 
Peter  arrived  on  the  stairs. 

'  You  are  tired,  mother.     You  want  to  sleep?  " 

"  We  will  talk  in  the  morning,  Peter." 

"Not  to-night?" 

"  It  is  not  necessary  to-night." 

Mrs.  Paragon  smiled  mysteriously,  and  added: 

'*  You  will  find  her  in  the  drawing-room." 

Peter's  heart  bounded. 

"  She  is  here?  "  he  breathlessly  asked. 

He  looked  at  the  door  between  them.  Mrs. 
Paragon  kissed  him  good  night  without  a  word, 
and  went  into  her  room. 

When  Peter  went  in  to  Miranda  he  saw  himself 
explaining  away  the  years  in  a  rush  of  eloquence. 
He  would  torrentially  claim  Miranda.  He  would 
persuade  and  overwhelm  her. 

Miranda,  for  her  part,  waited  eagerly  upon  the 
event.  She  had  decided  to  be  mistress  of  herself 
till  for  herself  she  had  judged  that  Peter's  mother 
was  right.  She  pretended  she  was  not  yet  sure 
that  Peter  had  never  ceased  to  care.  She  wanted 
to  play  delicately  with  her  glad  conviction. 

But  Peter  could  not  speak,  and  Miranda  could 
not  play.  He  came  towards  her  and  stood  a 
moment.  His  lips  foolishly  quivered,  and  the  veil 


326  PETER  PARAGON 

upon  Miranda  was  torn.  Her  hand  went  out  to 
him.  She  saw  she  had  moved  only  when  Peter 
dropped  beside  her  chair.  There  was  nothing 
now  to  explain.  He  just  crept  to  her  heart  and 
rested. 

The  meeting  of  their  eyes  was  not  yet  to  be 
endured.  They  came  together  in  a  darkness  of 
their  own. 

Gradually  the  trouble  went  out  of  their  passion 
—  a  stream,  no  longer  broken,  but  running  deep. 
To  Peter  it  seemed  that  the  tranquil  rhythm  of 
the  bosom  where  he  lay  had  never  failed. 

"  Why  have  we  waited  till  now?  "  Peter  softly 
wondered.  "  It  cannot  be  true.  I  have  come  to 
you  from  yesterday." 

They  were  together  a  little  longer,  shyly  ap- 
proaching the  wonder  of  their  meeting,  with 
broken  words  —  fragments  of  speech  pieced  out 
with  looks  and  touches. 

When  Miranda  had  left  him,  Peter  pondered  in 
her  chair  the  things  he  had  intended  to  say.  He 
could  not  now  believe  they  had  so  wonderfully 
taken  everything  for  granted.  Surely  when  morn- 
ing came  his  peace  and  joy  would  vanish. 
Nothing  would  remain  but  his  plans  of  yesterday 
for  a  holiday. 

In  the  morning  Miranda  met  him  as  a  sensible 
woman  with  commonplaces  to  discuss.  She  had 
decided  that  Peter  should  carry  out  his  plan  for  a 
voyage.  She  would  stay  in  London,  and  be  ready 
for  his  return.  Peter  demurred : 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  327 

"  Why  should  I  go  now?  "  he  asked.  "  I  have 
given  all  that  up." 

"  I  want  you  to  go,"  she  insisted. 

"But  you  will  come  with  me,  Miranda?" 
pleaded  Peter. 

"  I  will  come  to  the  edge  of  your  journey." 

Peter  felt  that  Miranda  was  right.  He  would 
come  to  her  with  a  mind  blown  fresh  by  the  sea. 
No  wraith  of  an  experience  unshared  would  sur- 
vive into  the  perfect  day  of  their  marriage.  The 
scattered  rays  of  his  passion  were  to  be  focussed 
anew  in  a  dedication  absolute  and  untroubled. 
The  present  was  haunted  by  the  shadows  he  had 
pursued.  They  flitted  between  them,  to  be  im- 
mediately recognised  for  shadows  and  to  be  put 
away;  but,  even  so,  their  joy  was  faintly  marred  by 
the  accusing  years.  Let  them  be  utterly  forgotten. 

Miranda  that  evening  went  on  board  Peter's 
yacht.  They  lay  till  sunset  off  the  Isle  of  Wight, 
till  a  red  glow  lit  the  western  cliffs.  Then  Mi- 
randa went  over  the  side,  and  from  a  small  boat 
watched  the  beautiful  ship  vanish  into  the  open  sea. 
Peter  stood  to  the  last,  erect  and  still,  and  as  the 
distance  widened  between  them  Miranda  wanted 
for  a  moment  to  call  him  back.  Her  sensitive 
idealism  seemed  out  of  reason  now  that  her  lover 
was  disappearing  into  the  haze. 

Then  she  overcame  her  moment  of  regret.  She 
had  given  him  up  to  the  burning  sea,  into  whose 
spaces  he  sailed.  He  would  come  back  to  her 
inspired  with  the  light  and  freedom  of  blue  water. 


328  PETER  PARAGON 

He  would  find  her  each  day  in  the  triumphing  sun, 
in  the  gleam  of  breaking  surf,  in  perfume  carried 
from  an  Indian  shore,  in  the  shining  of  far  moun- 
tains. He  would  fling  out  his  love  to  catch  at  all 
the  loveliness  into  which  he  was  passing.  The 
coloured  earth  should  paint  and  refashion  her;  the 
sea  should  consecrate  her;  permanent  hills,  seen 
far  off,  should  invest  her  in  queenliness.  Her 
hand  should  be  upon  him  in  the  velvet  wind.  Her 
mystery  should  fall  upon  him  out  of  the  deep  sky. 
Could  she  regret  days  which  were  thus  to  glorify 
her  ?  Filled  with  happiness,  exultant  and  sure,  she 
strained  no  longer  after  the  lost  ship.  Peter  had 
disappeared  into  a  yellow  mist  that  girdled  all  the 
visible  sea.  But  already  she  saw  him  returning  to 
claim  in  her  all  the  beauty  into  which  he  sailed. 


XLIV 

PETER  and  Miranda  were  looking  out  over  the 
selfsame  burning  water  into  which  she  had  lately 
dismissed  him.  Six  to  seven  months  had  passed, 
and  on  the  morning  of  that  day  they  had  quietly 
been  married  in  London.  Now  they  stood  high 
upon  the  cliffs  overhanging  a  small  western  bay. 

It  was  early  September,  and  the  night  was 
warm.  The  water  was  lightly  wrinkled.  It 
shimmered  from  the  extreme  height  at  which  they 
viewed  it,  like  beaten  metal.  The  light  rapidly 
died  down,  and  already  the  lit  rooms  of  a  house 
were  brighter  than  the  sky.  The  house  was  be- 
neath them,  alone  upon  the  side  of  a  steep  hill,  its 
windows  wide  to  the  sea. 

Peter  was  alone  with  Miranda  for  the  first  time 
that  day.  Hardly  a  week  ago  he  had  been  eagerly 
looking  each  morning  towards  England.  From 
the  time  he  had  landed,  and, Miranda  had  seen  in 
him  a  soul  swept  clean,  a  will  straining  towards 
her,  he  had  lived  in  the  clutch  of  preparation  and 
routine.  All  was  now  ready,  every  unessential 
thing  put  away. 

In  long  days  upon  the  deck  of  his  yacht  Peter 
had  come  to  distinguish  between  the  physical  un- 
rest of  his  late  years  —  vague  and  impersonal, 
afflicting  him  like  hunger  or  the  summer  heat  — 

329 


330  PETER  PARAGON 

and  the  perfect  passion  of  his  need  for  Miranda. 
Gradually,  too,  in  these  long  weeks  upon  the 
sea  Peter  began  to  see  steadily  things  which  hith- 
erto had  wavered.  He  had  touched  reality  at 
last.  He  overleaped  the  categories  in  a  burning 
sense  that  life  was  very  vast  and  very  near;  that 
the  virtue  of  men  could  not  easily  be  measured 
and  ranked;  that  the  wonder  of  existence  began 
when  it  ceased  consciously  to  confront  itself,  to 
probe  its  deep  heart,  and  absurdly  to  appoint  itself 
a  law.  He  went  through  his  adventures  of  the 
last  few  years  with  a  smile  for  his  ready  infatua- 
tion with  small  aspects  of  men  and  things.  He 
had  attempted  to  inspect  the  discipline  of  the 
world,  calling  mankind  to  attention  as  though  it 
were  a  regiment.  He  had  been  a  Socialist,  and 
then  very  nearly  a  Tory.  Now,  between  sky  and 
water,  he  vainly  tried  to  constrain  things  to  a 
formula.  He  found  that  he  no  longer  desired  to 
do  so.  He  began  to  understand  his  mother's 
deep,  instinctive  acceptance  of  time  and  fate.  All 
now  seemed  unreal,  except  the  quiet,  happy,  and 
assured  act  of  life  itself.  Craning  at  the  South- 
ern stars,  he  no  longer  desired  to  measure  or  to 
track  their  passage.  He  felt  them  rather  as  kin- 
dred points  of  energy.  The  pedantry  and  pride 
of  knowledge,  the  ambition  to  assess,  the  need  to 
round  off  heaven,  to  group  mankind  in  a  definite 
posture  and  take  for  himself  a  firmly  intelligible 
attitude  in  his  own  time  and  way  —  these  things 
had  suddenly  left  him.  Life  was  now  emotion- 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  331 

ally  simple,  and  it  therefore  had  ceased  to  be  in- 
tellectually difficult.  He  had  found  humour  and 
peace  —  an  absolute  content  to  receive  the  passing 
day.  Life  itself  mattered  so  much  to  him  —  so 
brimmed  him  with  the  passion  of  being  —  that  all 
he  had  thought  or  read  was  now  rebuked  as  an 
insolent  effort  to  contain  the  illimitable. 

Interminably,  of  course,  he  thought  of  his  per- 
sonal quest.  It  all  seemed  very  simple  now.  He 
had  had  some  unhappy  and  trivial  adventures. 
Their  sole  importance  was  to  make  him  measure 
truly  the  high  place  of  love.  In  the  beginning 
was  blind  desire.  Then  the  soul,  with  eyes  for 
beauty  and  the  power  to  elect,  turned  an  instinct 
of  the  herd  to  a  passion  of  the  individual  will  — 
a  passion  whose  fruit  was  loyalty  and  sacrifice, 
the  treasures  of  art  and  the  face  of  nature  wrought 
into  a  countenance  friendly  and  beautiful.  So 
mighty  had  this  passion  grown  that  now  it  could 
command,  as  an  instrument,  the  need  out  of  which 
it  came. 

Love  was  now  the  measure  of  a  man.  Either  it 
put  him  among  creatures  groping  uneasily  till 
driven  by  appetite  or  fear,  or  it  lifted  him  among 
the  inheritors  of  passion,  a  gift  rare  as  genius,  a 
sanctuary  from  the  driven  flesh. 

To-night,  as  Peter  sat  with  Miranda  looking 
towards  the  sea,  the  substance  of  these  thoughts 
lay  under  the  surface  of  his  joy.  He  wondered  if 
for  ever  he  could  beat  his  wings  so  high.  Surely 
to  die  soon  would  be  the  perfect  mating.  They 


332  'PETER  PARAGON 

were  now  upon  a  peak  whence  it  was  only  possible 
to  come  down. 

They  sat  quietly  as  the  moments  drifted. 
Words  between  them  suddenly  broke  upon  notes 
trembing  on  the  edge  of  silence.  To  the  passion 
of  his  adolescence  —  the  passion  of  five  years  ago, 
recovered  in  Indian  seas  and  among  lonely  islands 
of  the  Pacific  —  was  added  now  something  so  inti- 
mate and  personal  that  Peter  saw  in  the  fall  of 
Miranda's  dress  and  the  poise  of  a  comb  in  her 
hair  syllables  to  make  him  wise.  Her  beauty  had 
seemed,  moments  ago,  to  fill  him,  but  still  it  poured 
from  her. 

He  feared  to  think  that  this  was  only  a  begin- 
ning. How  could  he  suffer  more  happiness  and 
live?  He  could  dwell  for  ever  upon  the  line  of 
her  throat;  and  when  he  took  her  hands  it  seemed 
as  if  she  gave  to  him  all  he  could  endure  to  pos- 
sess. He  feared  to  be  stunned  and  blinded  with 
her  light,  and  he  felt  in  himself  an  equal  energy 
to  dazzle  and  consume.  It  must  surely  be  death 
to  touch  her  to  the  heart,  to  pierce  rashly  to  the 
secret  of  her  power. 

Into  his  happiness  there  intruded,  when  it  gave 
him  leave,  a  profound  gratitude.  He  .felt  the 
need  of  a  visible  Power  to  thank.  Almost  it 
seemed  he  had  supernaturally  been  led  to  this  per- 
fect moment,  to  encounter  it  perfectly.  All  his 
youth  was  gathered  up.  He  would  plunge  at  once 
to  the  heart  of  love,  his  soul  unblunted,  no  step  of 
his  adventure  known.  Many  times,  during  his 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  333 

days  at  sea,  he  had  trembled  to  think  how  near  he 
had  come  to  losing  the  unspoiled  mystery  of  the 
gift  Miranda  kept.  He  had  marvelled  at  the  deli- 
cate justice  and  complete  right  of  her  wish  that  he 
should  clear  his  soul  of  all  memories  they  did  not 
share  before  they  intimately  met. 

Now  in  the  falling  dark  they  sat  looking  some- 
times to  sea,  sometimes  to  the  light  that  beckoned 
them  home,  sometimes  to  the  secret  which  ever 
more  insistently  urged  and  troubled  them.  They 
felt  the  call  of  their  marriage,  bidding  them  closer 
yet.  It  shone  upon  them  out  of  Miranda's  win- 
dow in  the  house  below.  To  this  window  he  had 
sailed  alone  in  his  ship  for  long  nights.  Now 
that  it  shone  so  near,  imperiously  beckoning,  it 
hardly  seemed  an  earthly  lamp,  but  one  that,  when 
he  stepped  towards  it,  must  suddenly  go  out  or 
move  away. 

But  the  lure  was  true,  for  he  found  it  also  in 
Miranda  —  the  look  he  had  seen  in  her  eyes  years 
ago  when  first  he  had  kissed  her.  She  seemed  to 
be  giving  herself  to  him  —  to  give  and  give  again, 
with  treasures  uncounted  to  follow.  Yet  it  was 
not  mere  giving,  but  a  passing  of  virtue  from  one 
to  the  other. 

"  I  am  glad  we  waited  until  now,"  Peter  said  in 
a  note  so  low  that  it  hardly  reached  her.  u  Why 
were  you  so  wise  to  send  me  away?  Each  day 
has  added  to  you.  I  cannot  believe  I  shall  ever 
hold  you.  It  seems  like  wanting  the  whole 
world."  He  waved  his  hand  at  the  sea. 


334  PETER  PARAGON 

"  I  could  not  endure  to  be  less  than  the  whole 
world,"  she  quickly  answered. 

"  I  could  die  with  you  now.  Life  can  never 
again  be  so  wonderful." 

Then,  suddenly,  words  were  foolish,  and  he 
abruptly  ceased. 

The  last  light  of  a  day,  which  to-night  had  lain 
very  late  upon  the  water,  had  gone  quite  out. 
Hardly  could  they  see  each  other;  and  missing  the 
lost  message  of  their  eyes  they  pressed  closely  to- 
gether. The  beckoning  window  shone  more 
brightly  in  the  dark.  Soon  it  put  out  land  and 
sky.  It  could  not  be  avoided.  Together  they 
read  and  answered  the  steady  call.  It  put  be- 
tween them  a  growing  distress.  , 

"  Kiss  me,  my  husband,  and  let  me  go." 

Her  heart,  as  Peter  took  her  in  his  arms,  was 
beating  like  a  creature  caught  and  held. 

She  almost  disappeared  into  the  dark  as  she 
went  down;  but  he  followed  her  with  his  eyes, 
alert  for  every  step  of  her  passage.  At  last  she 
had  reached  the  house,  and  soon  Peter  could  see 
the  light  of  her  room  waver  with  her  moving  to 
and  fro. 

Only  Miranda's  window  was  shining  now. 

Then,  with  a  swiftness  that  struck  mortally  at 
his  heart,  Miranda's  window  also  was  dark,  or  so 
it  seemed,  for  the  light  went  down. 

Peter  spread  his  arms  and  stood  full  breathing 
for  a  moment,  fighting  desperately  with  an  un- 
known power.  He  had  a  swift  vision  of  her  wait- 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  335 

ing.  Then  he  went  down  the  hill,  and  felt  the 
earth  like  a  carpet  spread  for  his  marriage.  He 
turned  once  only  at  the  door  to  take,  as  he  felt,  a 
last  look  at  the  stars.  They  seemed  like  a  hand- 
ful of  dust  he  had  flung  at  the  sky. 


PETER  did  not  know  that  happiness  could  be  so 
tranquil  till  in  the  morning  he  floated  with  Mi- 
randa upon  the  quiet  sea.  It  seemed  that  only 
now  did  he  have  peace  and  time  to  realise  that  the 
miracle  of  their  love  was  complete.  It  flooded 
him  slowly  in  the  silence  of  the  dawn,  as,  waking 
to  the  chatter  of  birds,  he  lay  without  stirring, 
fearing  to  shake  the  comfort  of  a  perfect  memory. 
Miranda,  waking  soon,  had  answered  his  thought 
with  only  a  pressure  of  the  hand.  The  slow  open- 
ing of  her  eyes,  deep  with  fulfilment,  sealed  their 
marriage  in  the  sun,  assuring  him  it  was  not  a 
passing  ecstasy  of  moonlight  and  dark  hours. 

Then  they  had  planned  for  the  day  to  sail  be- 
fore a  light  wind,  rounding  the  western  rocks  of 
the  island.  This  would  meet  their  need  to  be 
happily  alone. 

Peter  had  hired  a  tiny  lugger  in  the  bay,  and 
they  were  passing  now  under  the  cliffs,  making  to 
weather  the  Needles  and  enjoy  the  painted  glory 
of  Alum. 

The  peace  of  a  track  almost  unvisited,  and  the 
unnatural  calm  of  the  water,  emphasized  the 
cruelty  of  this  iron  shore.  The  sea  lapped  softly 
into  worn  caves  at  the  base  of  the  cliff.  Some- 
times it  idly  flung  a  wave  of  the  tide  so  that  it 

336 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  337 

slapped  at  a  hollow  rock  as  at  a  muted  drum,  mak- 
ing a  sound  faintly  terrible,  like  an  understatement 
of  something  too  evil  to  be  uttered  aloud. 

Peter  shuddered  at  the  sound  and  at  the  sleep- 
ing white  horror  of  the  shore.  He  thought  with 
regret  of  the  sheltered  and  homely  bay  they  had 
left.  He  had  seen  and  enjoyed  places  more  wild 
and  lonely  than  this;  but  to-day  he  seemed  no 
longer  to  desire  their  inhuman  beauty. 

Last  night,  upon  the  cliff,  he  had  been  ready  to 
jump  at  death.  It  had  seemed  the  only  possible 
consummation  of  a  passion  that  reached  beyond 
him.  But  to-day  he  walked  upon  the  earth. 
Something  was  added  to  his  love  —  a  comforta- 
ble sanity,  a  touch  of  dear  humour,  an  immense 
friendliness. 

He  began  to  find  in  Miranda  a  homeliness  more 
thrilling  than  the  virginal  beauty  he  had  hardly 
dared  to  see.  The  wind  and  sun  of  their  ride 
yesterday  through  Hampshire  had  rudely  touched 
her  face.  To-day  it  was  visibly  peeling.  She 
was  no  longer,  in  his  eyes,  remote  and  queenly,  but 
she  was  infinitely  more  precious.  He  saw  that  her 
arm  was  freckled  at  the  wrist. 

Passion  would  take  them  again,  and  lift  them 
above  the  world,  coming  and  going  as  the  spirit 
moved.  But  now  there  was  something  new, 
something  he  had  not  before  encountered,  a  steady 
will  to  suffer  with  his  beloved,  to  live  between  four 
walls,  and  encounter  each  small  adventure  in  a 
loyal  league  against  time. 


338  PETER  PARAGON 

The  stress  of  his  late  years  was  now  forgotten. 
He  was  eager  for  work  —  to  fill  up  his  life  and 
make  firm  his  foothold  among  men.  His  mind 
was  swept  and  purified,  his  brain  made  clear  and 
sweet.  Life  had  perspective  now.  Miranda's 
humour  and  clear  vision  had  touched  him,  conveyed 
in  the  miracle  of  their  intimate  life.  He  could 
smile  now  at  the  blind  energy,  the  enthusiasms, 
sudden  and  absurd,  of  his  late  career.  They  be- 
came unreal  as  he  talked  with  Miranda. 

Every  little  thing  was  pleasant  —  their  unsuc- 
cessful shots  at  a  mooring;  a  picnic  in  the  boat, 
swinging  under  the  Alum  cliffs;  Miranda's  lesson 
in  ropes  and  knots;  their  landing  on  the  beach  in 
a  gentle  surf;  the  elfin  look  of  Miranda's  dripping 
hair  as  they  came  from  bathing  —  it  seemed  that 
no  detail  could  be  commonplace. 

In  the  evening  they  sailed  west  of  the  Needles, 
the  sea  divinely  ruffled  and  lit  with  wind  and  sun. 
The  beauty  of  the  flecked  sky  and  a  hint  of  night 
in  the  east  caught  at  them.  Passion  renewed 
shone  in  their  eyes,  passion  unthwarted  by  the 
small  kindness  and  laughter  of  the  day.  Their 
love  could  live  with  fun  for  company.  It  had  fa- 
miliarly walked  and  scrambled  with  them  through 
the  day,  only  the  more  surely  to  put  forth  wings 
at  a  touch. 

Then  the  mood  of  their  excursion  changed. 
The  wind  rapidly  freshened,  and  soon  they  rushed 
in  a  heeling  boat,  brightly  dashed  with  spray,  ex- 
hilarated and  shouting  to  be  heard.  Miranda 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  339 

had  to  strain  far  back  upon  the  gunwale,  hauling 
hard  at  the  sheet. 

Peter  wondered  whence  the  breeze  so  suddenly 
had  come.  He  looked  to  the  south,  and  called  to 
Miranda  to  look.  A  rain-cloud  was  advancing 
towards  them,  a  line  of  pattering  drops  clearly 
cut  upon  the  water. 

It  struck  them  suddenly;  and  Peter  at  once  re- 
alised that;  though  the  event  was  beautiful,  he 
had  no  time  to  lose  in  admiration.  They  must 
run.  They  would  have  to  tack  into  the  Bay;  and 
the  wind  was  continually  stronger.  Miranda  was 
aware  in  his  orders  to  her  of  a  strain  of  impatience 
and  anxiety.  She  could  herself  see  that  the  boat 
was  in  distress.  They  raced  out  to  sea,  keeping 
as  far  as  possible  from  the  cruel  shore  under  which 
they  had  sailed  in  the  morning. 

The  strain  grew.  In  the  midst  of  their  peril 
Miranda  exulted  to  feel  that  Peter  knew  what  to 
do,  and  demanded  of  her  an  immediate  answer 
to  his  directions.  The  knowledge  he  had  play- 
fully given  her  in  the  morning  steadied  them  well. 
She  had  a  glad  sense  that  they  were  working  com- 
petently together.  Peter  felt  it  too. 

He  looked  grimly  to  port  at  the  high  cliff. 
Last  night  he  had  played  with  the  idea  of  jumping 
down.  He  smiled,  seeing  that  life  could  be  iron- 
ical. He  set  his  teeth.  He  had  now  no  intention 
of  dying.  He  shouted  at  Miranda,  and  rejoiced 
to  see  how  quickly  she  took  the  word : 

"Lee  Ho!" 


340  PETER  PARAGON 

They  weathered  the  point,  and  could  now  see 
the  light  of  their  house  upon  the  cliff.  Almost 
they  were  safe.  For  a  time  they  rushed  forward, 
blinded  and  drenched  with  rain  and  spray;  then 
suddenly  the  wind  was  cut  off,  and  it  was  calm. 
They  were  steadily  moving  towards  their  moor- 
ings in  the  Bay,  and  the  shower  was  now  pouring 
straightly  out  of  the  sky.  The  whole  world  had 
seemed  a  welter  of  water  rushing  at  them  from 
every  point.  Now  it  was  merely  raining,  and  they 
were  uncomfortable. 

Peter  looked  at  Miranda.  Her  eyes  and  cheeks 
shone  with  excitement  out  of  the  bedraggled  wreck 
of  her  hair.  Her  clothes  clung  absurdly  about 
her.  He  felt  the  water  trickling  down  his  back 
and  chest,  and  Miranda  moved  uneasily.  She, 
too,  was  ridiculously  teased. 

But  Peter's  heart  was  glad.  Their  quick  race 
under  the  cruel  cliffs  had  shown  him  in  a  vision 
their  life  to  come.  It  had  given  him  a  comrade  at 
need,  a  companion  for  every  day,  brave  and  keen, 
rising  above  disaster,  redeeming  life  from  the  peril, 
discomfort,  and  ridicule  of  mischance. 

He  ran  the  boat  to  her  moorings,  and  watched 
Miranda  as  she  hung  over  the  side  to  ship  the 
buoy.  Her  skirt,  folded  about  her,  dripped  copi- 
ously into  her  shoes.  He  remembered  how,  as  a 
boy,  he  had  kissed  the  hem  of  her  frock.  He 
softly  laughed,  but  wished  he  had  not  been  so  busy 
with  the  ropes. 

When  the  boat  was  still,  they  looked  at  one 


A  TALE  OF  YOUTH  341 

another  and  burst  into  laughter.  They  were  so 
miserably  wet  and  foolish.  Then  Peter  remem- 
bered how  the  spray  had  dashed  upon  the  cruel 
white  cliffs  as  they  raced  into  the  Bay;  and  it  made 
their  companionable  safety  very  sweet.  He  flung 
his  clammy  arms  about  her,  kissing  her  wet  face 
and  hair. 

Already  the  lit  windows  of  their  house  twinkled 
to  the  sea,  and  the  moon  was  beginning  to  swing 
her  lamp.  At  midnight  she  once  more  lit  them 
preciously  together.  Then  the  sun  put  her  out, 
and  another  day,  kind  and  beautiful,  called  them 
happily  to  the  common  round. 


THE   END 


000  114902 


